130 


^RY 

F  CALIFORNIK 
DAVIS 


EL  DORADO 


EL    DORADO 

A   TRAGEDY 


BY 
RIDGELY    TORRENCE 


"  Over  the  Mountains 

Of  the  Moont 
Down  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow, 

Ride,  boldly  ride" 

The  shade  replied, 
"  If  you  seek  for  Eldorado  !  " 

POE 


JOHN  LANE  •  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

M-CM-III 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
JOHN  LANE 


First  Edition,  August,  1903 


THE  HEINTZEMANN  PRESS 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 
MY   PARENTS 


PROLOGUE 

Enter  SHADOW,  clothed  blackly,  having  a  red  dagger  and 
bearing  as  a  shield  a  great  white  mask. 

SHADOW.     Into  this  world  where  Life  is  born  of  Light 

I,  Shadow,  have  been  sent  to  bring  you  peace, 

To  make  you  wise ;  within  my  tragic  themes, 

Lost  Love,  A  Sullen  Will,  Dead  Hope  and  Dread 

You  shall  find  balm,  pleasant  with  secret  nard, 

To  heal  your  discontent,  for  all  men  know 

That  he  for  whom  noon's  brightest  radiance  glows 

Is  he  who  waked  and  shuddered  at  midnight. 

O  tear-accustomed  children  of  this  age 

Look  on  my  stage  and  weep  no  more,  for  now 

I'll  summon  shapes  struck  with  a  grief  so  black 

That  earth  seemed  fire,  the  sea  a  cloud  of  fear, 

Fate  seemed  an  idiot  scrawling  on  the  sand, 

And  heaven  driven  like  a  little  leaf. 

The  gold,  five-keyed  Elizabethan  horn 

Shall  be  for  us  the  soothing  instrument. 

Then  for  the  tale's  sake  I  do  kneel  for  help, 

To  sky-browed  ./Eschylus  who  down  all  the  years 

Mourns  deeply  through  a  sterner,  briefer  shell, 

Making  men  hear  the  eagle  wheel  and  shriek 

Round  the  sea  rock  on  which  all  hope  lay  bound. 

Aid  thou  me  then,  O  elemental  Greek, 

Plunge  in  the  rose  at  once  her  destined  thorn ; 

Let  not  the  wind  have  gradual  rise  and  urge, 

But  strike  now  to  the  tempest's  coil  and  hiss, 

Show  the  swift  lovers  burning  to  and  fro 

With  Perth  entombed,  hearing  no  sound  of  earth 

But  in  the  sky  a  thunder  of  falling  tears. 


CHARACTERS 

FRANCIS  VASQUEZ  DE  CORONADO,  Captain-General  of  the 
forces  marching  in  search  of  the  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola. 

HERN  AN  D'ALARCON,  Admiral  of  the  naval  detachment  of 
searchers. 

ANTONIO  DE  MENDOZA,  Viceroy  of  New  Spain,  i.e.  Mexico. 

Luis  DE  UBEDA,  A  Friar. 

A  GAOLER. 

A  WARDER. 

A  MAJOR-DOMO. 

A  CONVICT. 

SIR  PHILIP  PERTH,  An  Englishman. 

BEATRIX  D'ESTRADA,  Daughter  of  the  Treasurer  of  New 
Spain  and  in  love  with  Coronado. 

SOLDIERS,  SAILORS,  HERALDS,  TOWNSPEOPLE,  COUR 
TIERS,  WOMEN,  FRIARS,  INDIAN  CAMP-FOLLOWERS. 


TIME:  December,  1539,  to  October,  1541 
SCENE  :  First  Act  in  Mexico.    Afterward  dispersedly  in  the 
United  States. 


ACT  I 


EL  DORADO 


SCENE  i.  —  A  corridor  beneath  the  Viceregal  Palace  in 
the  City  of  Mexico.  Two  thirds  of  the  way  up  the 
stage  to  the  left  is  a  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  up  to 
a  door  through  which  issues  a  brighter  light  than  that 
below.  It  is  the  morning  of  the  day  upon  which  the 
searchers  for  the  Seven  Cities  leave  the  city.  Pacing 
nervously  back  and  forth  is  CORONADO.  He  is  evidently 
fresh  from  an  elaborate  toilet  and  is  dressed  in  the  ex 
treme  mode  of  the  Court  of  Charles  V.  A  suit  of  white 
velvet.  Over  his  shoulder  a  cloak  of  flame- coloured 
silk  embroidered  with  gold.  A  white  hat  with  sweep 
ing  plume.  A  very  long  but  dainty  sword  with  large 
jeweled  hilt. 

On  a  stone  bench  a  GAOLER  is  stolidly  seated.     He 
is  dressed  in  plain  leather  jacket  and  brown  hose. 

CORONADO.     The  dawn  is  late ! 

[The  sound  of  distant  ordnance  is  heard. 
GAOLER.  There  is  the  gun. 

COR.  How  strange  1 

This  air  is  still  grey  as  if  charged  with  night. 
GAOL.     Our  nights  are  like  our  noons. 

13 


H  EL  DORADO 

COR.  Perhaps,  in  prison. 

GAOL.     I  never  knew  outside. 

COR.  But  are  you  sure 

This  was  the  place  she  said  ? 

GAOL.  No  man  more  so. 

Here's  what  she  gave  me  for  forget-me-nots. 

[Showing  purse. 

COR.     'Tis  a  bleak  limbo  for  a  meeting  world. 

[A  woman's  figure  appears  at  the  top  of  the 
stone  steps.     She   stands  for  an   instant. 
CORONADO  has  his  face  turned  in  that  di- 
ection  but  does  not  observe  her. 

GAOL.     She's  here. 

COR.     \_Starting.~\    Now  go  your  ways.    There's  some 
thing  real. 

[Gives  him  money.  Exit  GAOLER.  CORO 
NADO  turns  to  meet  the  figure  which  comes 
swiftly  down  the  steps  toward  kim.~\ 

Beatrix ! 

THE  WOMAN.     It  is  you  ! 

[She  comes  to  him  with  the  evident  intention  of 
embracing  him,  but  his  manner  causes  her 
to  pause  at  arm's  length.  She  is  pale  and 
her  dress  of  grey  is  plainly  trimmed  in  cloth 
of  silver  with  a  bit  of  white  about  the  neck. 
It  is  BEATRIX  D' ESTRADA. 

COR.  O  Wild  and  Dear, 

This  is  no  place  for  trysts  1 

BEATRIX.  A  sentinel 

Was  stationed  at  the  entrance  of  the  garden. 

This  was  the  only  place. 


EL  DORADO  15 

COR.  We  should  have  waited 

And  gone  to  beg  once  more  your  father's  sanction. 
BEAT.     To  beg!    And  how?    To  pray?    To  kiss  his 

hands  ? 

To  show  him  seas  of  tears?  To  smile?  To  shriek? 
Or  to  be  quiet  ?  I  have  tried  them  all. 
Time  and  chance  wear  masks  of  stone  to  us. 
COR.     They  seem  of  stone,  yet  blessings  often  come 
Wearing  a  mask. 

BEAT.  And  is  this  thing  a  blessing  ? 

COR.     Sweet,  it  may  be.     Patience  is  mine  and  hope. 
BEAT.     Patience  1  Patience  I  Are  not  all  our  days 
Shrouded  beneath  her  flinty,  irksome  smile  ? 
O,  Patience  is  the  tyrant  of  the  world ! 
And  Hope  !  Why,  Hope  is  dead  !  And  as  for  blessings ! 
Is  it  a  blessing  to  be  starved,  athirst, 
And  have  both  bread  and  wine,  yet  be  forbade 
To  taste  ?  Is  it  a  blessed  thing  to  dwell 
Forever  in  a  desert  and  behold 
The  gardens  of  the  world  but  in  mirage  ? 
Is  it  a  blessing  to  lose  hope,  life,  love  ? 
Well  then,  I  pray  I  may  be  cursed,  cursed,  cursed, 
Out  of  a  heaven  of  blessings  such  as  these 
To  uttermost  night ! 

COR.  It  is  not  you  that  speaks ! 

'Tis  some  usurper  got  behind  your  eyes, 
Seeking  to  take  the  throne  where  you  still  sit. 
I  know !  I  see  you  there,  —  calm,  brave,  but  sad. 
There  is  the  queen  no  traitor  ever  harms ! 
Dear  Hands  with  the  majesty  of  snow  and  lilies, 
Retake  your  might  1  Reign  !  Is  your  will  not  royal  ? 


1 6  EL  DORADO 

[A  noise  of  hinges  and  locks  and  the  tramp  of  feet 
is  heard.    Several  men  appear  dimly  in  the 
far  end  of  the  corridor,  passing  from  one  un 
seen  door  to  another.  The  woman  clings  to  her 
lover  with  an  instinctive  foreboding  of  evil. 
BEAT.  \ShudderingI\  What  men  pass  there  ? 
COR.  The  prisoners  of  state 

Who  are  released  to  join  the  expedition. 
BEAT.     Those  seven  deadly  cities  are  to  me 
The  sins  that  make  God  bitterest  against  earth  1 
COR.     I  only  seek  to  satiate  your  father. 
BEAT.     Fray  Nizza  says  he  did  not  see  much  gold. 
COR.     Not  he,  but  the  good  Moor  Estevanico 
Went  further  and  saw  much  and  heard  of  more. 
And  in  the  Zuni  fortress  they  were  told 
That  northward,  to  the  rising  of  the  sun 
Quevara  lay,  which  is  Elysium, 
The  vanished  paradise,  and  there  men  find 
All  things  desirable. 
BEAT.  And  gold  as  well? 

COR.  Yet  it  is  there,  mine  are  the  eyes  to  see  it, 
Here  is  the  heart  shall  bring  it  home  to  you 
Made  pure,  for  it  must  touch  and  kiss  and  crown 
This  brow. 

BEAT.  I  need  no  thing  to  touch  and  kiss 

My  hair  save  lips  and  hands,  and  these  I  have ; 
They  are  my  crown. 

COR.  But  the  Most  Holy  Church 

Needs  all  men  who  go  forth  for  gold  with  swords, 
To  fight  and  kneel  in  those  far,  desperate  fields, 
Offering  the  savage  blood  up  unto  heaven. 


EL  DORADO  17 

BEAT.     Here  is  a  savage.     Here,  within  my  breast, 
That  yields  to  but  one  man.     The  Church  has  many,  — 
Keep  me  this  one. 

\The  sound  of  a  chime  beating  six  is  heard. 
They  start  and  listen. 

COR.  This  hour  the  Council  meets. 

They  give  me  my  command. 

BEAT.  It  is  the  end. 

COR.     Do  not  we  two  know  well  there  is  no  ending  ? 

Do  you  not  dream  upon  this  afternoon  ? 

Go  early  to  the  Viceroy's  balcony, 

I  will  await  below,  and  afterward, 

When  the  last  loudness  fades  upon  the  air 

And  the  long  march  is  dim  against  the  sky, 

I  will  return  for  one  last  hour  of  all. 

Ah,  do  we  two  not  well  know  where  ?     The  Tree ! 

The  old,  moon-smitten  place  of  love  and  leaves. 

BEAT.     There  shall  be  no  farewell ;  I  go  with  you. 

COR.     O  madness! 

BEAT.  I  will  follow. 

COR.  Then  would  Death 

Leap  forth  for  both  of  us  from  my  own  sword, 

For  you  could  never  come  still  white  to  me 

Amid  the  foul  camp-followers. 

BEAT.  We  would  die  ? 

COR.     By  my  swift  hand. 

BEAT.     ^Desperately  tearing  open  her  garment  at  the 

breast  for  him  to  strike."]     Now  1 

COR.  Brave  and  Mad  and  Dear, 

Only  on  such  an  hour  as  when  you  come. 


1 8  EL  DORADO 

Yet  you  will  not  —  what  wildness  do  we  mutter,  — 

[The  chime  beats  the  quarter •.] 
The  bell !     [He  starts  to  go.~\ 
BEAT.          Another  death  — 

COR.     [Embracing  her  swiftly '.]    No  !  life  —  and  hope ! 

[Exit. 

[BEATRIX  stands  gazing  stonily  at  vacancy  until 

he  is  quite  gone. 
BEAT.     Lady  of  Pity!     Help  — 

[The  GAOLER  comes  from  behind  a  pillar  and  ap 
proaches  softly  and  cringingly. 

GAOL.  Yestreen  'twas  dim ; 

[She  turns.] 

So  it  may  not  have  glistened  to  your  eyes. 
I  have  it  yet. 

BEAT.  Have  what  ? 

GAOL.  The  suit  of  armour. 

BEAT.     The  suit  of  armour  ? 

GAOL.     [Reminiscently.']        Yes,  the  prison  killed  him. 
He  gave  it  to  me,  dying,  it  is  mine ; 
Called  me  his  mother !    I  was  far  from  that, 
But  I  was  very  soft.     Poor  murdered  boy  1 
I  would  have  kept  it,  but  the  drink  grows  dear, 
Dearer  than  memories  of  any  man. 
It  is  all  whole,  the  head-piece  only  dinted. 
BEAT.     The  head-piece  ? 

GAOL.  But  he  always  kept  it  down. 

I  never  saw  his  face  till  that  last  day. 
BEAT.     Down  ? 

GAOL.  And  his  face  was  like  the  upper  air. 

BEAT.     Bring  it.     I  will  look  once  more. 


EL  DORADO  19 

[The  GAOLER  at  once  produces  a  suit  of  mail 
from  behind  the  pillar.  He  gives  it  to  her. 
She  holds  it  against  her  body  as  if  measur 
ing  it. 

GAOL.  Bright!  Bright! 

BEAT.     What  might  I  do  with  such  a  manly  thing  ? 
GAOL.     [  With  low  cunning^    Do  ?    What  you  please. 

It  might  have  many  uses. 
Even  more  use  than  the  poor  gold  I  ask. 
BEAT.     [Suddenly '.]  Here  is  the  gold.  \Gives  him  pur sel\ 

Muffle  the  suit  in  cloths 
And  in  an  hour  carry  it  to  the  stairs. 
I  will  be  there,  and  with  another  purse 
For  secrecy. 

GAOL.  Trust  me.     Foam  numbs  the  tongue. 

{Exit. 
BEAT.     [As  she  goes  slowly  up  the  steps^    And  —  death 

—  to  follow  —  him  — 
And  life  —  where  else? 


SCENE  2.  —  Hall  of  State  in  the  Palace.  The  room  is  a 
large  one  with  some  claim  to  stateliness.  It  is,  in  the 
main,  Gothic,  but  alloyed  with  suggestions  of  the  archi 
tecture  of  the  edifice  and  ruins  on  the  site  before  the 
restoration,  fourteen  years  previous  to  this  scene.  The 
lines  are  more  flattened  and  the  scanty  carving  is  seen, 
on  closer  inspection,  to  be  alien  to  old-world  art,  unless 
it  be  Egyptian.  At  one  end  is  a  dais  upon  which  is  a 
throne  canopied  with  red  velvet  and  embossed  with  the 
royal  arms.  Upon  the  throne  is  seated  the  VICEROY. 


20  EL  DORADO 

He  is  clad  in  black  and  on  his  breast  is  the  Order  of 
the  Golden  Fleece. 

Upon  the  level  of  the  dais,  though  in  a  movable 
chair,  is  seated  a  man,  old,  grizzled,  and  clad  in  plain 
soldierly  dress  and  half  mail. 

At  the  door  and  lining  the  walls  are  motionless 
SOLDIERS  on  guard.  Several  PAGES  loiter  about  the 
room,  and  at  the  end  opposite  the  throne  is  a  table  at 
which  are  seated  several  FRIARS  acting  as  secretaries. 

The  man  seated  with  the  VICEROY  is  HERNAN 
D'ALARCON,  Admiral  of  the  impending  expedition. 

ALARCON.     We  still  need  men. 

MENDOZA.  You  have  too  many  now. 

ALAR.     Yes,  of  one  kind,  but  of  another,  no. 
MEN.     How  ? 

ALAR.  Of  a  kind  of  dainty  officer 

Fashioned  of  all  the  younger  sons  of  Spain 
That  overrun  this  land,  —  pale  silken  things, 
Or  yellow,  treacherous,  lewd  swaggerers, 
We  have  a  plenitude.     But  of  men  ?     No  ! 
Of  men  who  no  more  laugh  at  perilous  things 
Than  they  do  shrink  from  them ;  grim,  faithful  men, 
Who  fight  as  though  they  work,  and  work  like  war 
riors,  — 

Of  these  there  is  a  lack. 
MEN.  There  are  none  left. 

Even  the  dungeons  are  left  tenantless. 

\There  is  a  stir  at  the  door  of  the  Hall.  Enter 
a  MAJOR-DOMO  followed  by  the  WARDER 
of  the  Castle  bearing  his  keys  and  a  book. 


EL  DORADO  21 

MAJOR-DOMO.     The  Warder  craves  your  leave  to  tell 

a  thing. 

MEN.     Let  it  be  told. 

WARDER.  I  dared  not  keep  it  back : 

There  is  a  man  left,  or  there  was,  or  seemed  — 
MEN.     Be  brief. 

WARD.  All  of  those  lower  cells  are  pits 

Whose  prisoners  are  only  reached  by  chains 
Let  down  into  the  dark.     We  dragged  them  forth 
One  after  one ;  I  and  the  gaolers  laughed, 
They  seemed  so  like  some  heavy  blinking  fish. 
All  took  their  freedom  like  a  sentence,  —  dazed. 
MEN.     What  of  the  man  ? 

WARD.  Yes,  when  we  reached  the  mouth 

Of  the  last  pit  and  called  down  the  good  news, 
No  sound  came  ;  then  said  I,  "  Do  you  still  live  ?  " 
And  listened,  but  the  silence  grew  again 
And  we  would  fain  have  gone,  when  from  the  depths 
We  heard  a  whisper  say  four  words,  as  though 
Some  dead  man  spoke  a  lesson  to  his  grave. 
ALAR.     What  were  the  words  ? 

WARD.  How  I  remember  them  ! 

"  There  is  no  life."—"  Well  then,"  said  I,  "  Sir  Ghost, 
Yield  up  thy  spirit,  grasp  the  chain  and  mount." 
Then  came  the  voice  again,  "  I  have  done  with  chains." 
And  all  was  still ;  he  would  not  be  released. 
MEN.     And  is  he  yet  there  ? 

WARD.  No,  we  urged  in  vain, 

Then  let  a  ladder  down  and  several  men 
Brought  him,  indifferent,  to  the  air  and  light. 
MEN.     And  now  ? 


22  EL  DORADO 

WARD.  He  is  within  my  private  lodge. 

MEN.     Summon  him  here. 

WARD.  The  book  will  tell  his  time. 

[He  gives  them  the  prisoner's  record.     Exit 

GAOLER. 
ALAR.     The  book.   [MENDOZA  opens  it.   ALARCON  looks 

on. 

MEN.  Cell  ten. 

ALAR.  A  lost  page. 

MEN.  Here  it  is. 

[.Reading.]  "The    reign    of  Ferdinand   and    Isabel — 
Within  the  thirty- fifth  year  of  the  reign  — 
Imprisoned —  by  an  order  — for  a  crime  — 
A  man  —  within  the  dnngeo?is  of  Seville." 
ALAR.     There  is  a  note  below.     'Tis  newer  ink. 
MEN.     [Reading.] 

"  Brought  out  to  Mexico  as  galley  slave  — 
By  me  —  Hernando  Cortez  of  Medellin" 
ALAR.     The  thirty-fifth  !     'Tis  thirty  years  since  then  ! 
MEN.     The  years  drift  by  like  rain. 
Enter  WARDER. 

WARD.  The  man  is  here 

And  waits  outside. 
MEN.  Bring  him  within  at  once. 

[Exit  WARDER,  who  immediately  re-enters  lead 
ing  a  MAN.  The  WARDER  steps  back  and 
the  MAN  is  left  standing  at  the  dais  steps. 
He  has  the  strong,  well-knit  frame  of  a  man 
in  the  prime  of  middle  life,  but  his  shoulders 
and  head  are  inclined  as  with  the  weight 
of  many  years.  His  hair  is  white  and  his 


EL  DORADO  23 

face,  though  full-lipped,  is  grey  and  lined 
with  the  furrows  of  old  age.  His  eyes  are 
lustreless  and  set  straight  before  him.  His 
whole  demeanour  betokens  the  most  utter, 
listless  hopelessness.  He  is  clad  in  plain 
doublet  and  hose  of  stone-colour  embellished 
with  a  gaudy  cloak  evidently  lent  to  him  by 
the  WARDER.] 

Who  are  you  ? 

THE  MAN.         Why,  —  not  "  who." 

MEN.  What  does  he  say  ? 

WARD.     His  head  is  still  distraught. 

MEN.  What  do  you  wish  ? 

THE  MAN.     Wishes  went  last  of  all,  but  they  went  too. 

MEN.     Went  where  ? 

THE  MAN.  With  hours  —  and  days  —  and 

then  —  the  night. 

MEN.  How  long  a  time  have  you  been  kept  im 
prisoned  ? 

THE  MAN.  Time  is  a  name.  Yes,  yes,  I  still  hear 
names. 

MEN.  What  names  ? 

THE  MAN.          Dead  hopes.     Yes,  Hope  too  is  a  name. 

MEN.     I  can  make  nothing  of  the  answers  given. 

Alarcon,  if  you  wish,  question  the  man. 

ALAR.     This  is  the  Tribunal  of  Mexico. 

You  have  your  freedom.     You  have  been  released. 

We  have  a  kindly  spirit  for  your  grievance. 

Tell  us  your  tale  that  we  may  help  your  case ; 

This  is  the  House  of  Justice. 

THE  MAN.  What  is  Justice  ? 


24  EL  DORADO 

MEN.     Impartial  judgment ;  equal  as  day  and  night. 
THE  MAN.     And  night  —  and  night  —  and  night.   The 

tale  is  told. 

MEN.     His  reason  is  dead. 

ALAR.  Not  dead,  but  stricken  hard 

And  mutters  as  a  thing  that  looks  on  Death. 
I  have  seen  men  once  or  twice  before  like  this 
When  we  released  old  prisoners  of  the  Moors. 
MEN.     We  can  do  nothing  then  in  this  event 
Till  his  recovery,  which  is  uncertain. 
Dismissed.     Lead  him  away. 

[The  WARDER  comes  forward  and  conducts  the 
MAN  toward  the  door.  AH  within  the  Hall 
have  been  watching  the  MAN,  and  from  the 
secretaries^  table  a  PRIEST  has  arisen  and 
walked  slowly  forward.  As  the  MAN  turns 
toward  the  door  this  PRIEST  stands  con 
fronting  him. 

THE  FRIAR.     O  speak  my  name  1 

THE  MAN.     [A s  to  himself. ~\      A  memory  —  also  dead. 

THE  FRIAR.     Philip ! 

THE  MAN.  God  help  me  1 

THE  FRIAR.  Hold  1  Cling !  Keep  your  eyes 

Alight  1 

THE  MAN.     Ubeda ! 

THE  FRIAR.  You  are  still  alive 

That  you  may  live ;  here  is  the  same  warm,  sweet, 

Gold  sun,  green  world,  blue  space,  and  blossom  red. 

Enter  this  fire-spun  web  of  summer  noon 

And  be  enmeshed  with  all  the  willing  earth  1 


EL  DORADO  25 

The  wonder  and  wine  of  day,  the  moving  things. 

Live  for  the  beauty  of  the  things  remote ; 

The  stars,  and  the  wise  hours  that  make  for  us 

The  heaven-presaging  briefness  of  a  flower. 

THE  MAN.     To  live  —  to  live  —  to  live  — 

THE  FRIAR.  You  have  awakened. 

Here's  warmth,  come  near  to  me,  grip  close  my  hand. 

Does  it  speak  nothing  of  all  the  love  that  moves  it  ? 

MEN.     Brother  Ubeda,  you  have  known  this  man  ? 

UBEDA.     I  have. 

MEN.  What  of  his  life  ? 

UBEDA.  'Tis  quickly  told 

Though  long  in  making.     In  the  year  of  grace 

Nine  past  the  flight  of  fifteen  centuries, 

An  acolyte  in  Salamanca's  cloisters 

Possessed  a  friend  like  David's  Jonathan, 

An  English  knight  sent  thither  as  a  student, 

Whose  nobleness  even  outshone  his  rank. 

All  sunny  things  smiled  on  him  and  were  his 

And  would  have  lighted  all  his  earthly  life 

But  for  a  glance.  ...  A  noble  of  the  town, 

Decayed  in  fortune  and  merit,  had  one  daughter 

Whom  he  intended  as  a  bait  for  gold. 

The  youth  was  but  a  powerless  younger  son. 

There  was  a  meeting  and  a  secret  marriage, 

Then  came  the  end.  —  The  same  sad  moon  that  rose 

Upon  her  bridal  waned  on  her  alone. 

The  father  of  the  maid  had  certain  might, 

And  so  the  bridegroom  vanished  like  a  shade. 

Nothing  was  said.    There  were  no  questions  —  spoken. 

This  is  the  man.     I  was  the  acolyte. 


z6  EL  DORADO 

[The  sound  of  clock  chimes  is  heard  outside. 

Then     the     sound    of    trumpets.     Enter 

HERALDS  trumpeting. 

A  HERALD.     At  this  hour  the  Viceroy  will  inspect 
The  arsenal  and  weapons  for  the  march. 

\_The  VICEROY  rises  followed  by  all  in  the  hall. 

They  prepare  to  file  out. 
MEN.     Sir,  I  have  pity  for  your  wrongs. 
ALAR.  And  I  — 

MEN.     We  will  do  all  we  can  to  recompense  you. 

[Exeunt  all  except  PERTH,  UBEDA  and  WARDER. 
UBEDA.     [To  WARDER.]     We  wish  to  be  left  here. 
WARD.  When  you  have  done 

Let  him  come  down  and  lodge  within  my  quarter,  — 
Poor  gentleman  —  and  welcome. 
UBEDA.  You  are  thanked. 

[Exit  WARDER.] 

Out  of  the  lagging  night  of  all  these  years 
I've  begged  God  for  this  hour ;  to  grasp  this  hand 
And  look  into  this  face  and  hear  this  voice 
And  sound  the  name  of  friend  for  balm  to  you. 
PERTH.     Yes,  I  believe  you  have  been  true  to  me. 
I  give  you  thanks.     Friends  were  the  noblest  things 
In  the  world  once,  no  doubt  they  still  are  so ; 
I  loved  you  then,  no  doubt  I  love  you  still. 
And  now,  if  you  have  done,  I  will  return. 
UBEDA.     Will  return !    Where  ? 
PERTH.  Again  into  the  dark. 

This  blatant  yellow  light  dins  in  my  brain. 
I  seem  to  have  to  bear  the  sky's  whole  arch, 
Like  Atlas,  on  my  shoulders,  —  Yes,  the  dark, 


EL  DORADO  27 

The  dark  is  better ;  there  I  cannot  see 

The  load  I  bear.  —  I  only  feel  them  all. 

UBEDA.     Feel  them  !    Feel  what  ? 

PERTH.  Clouds,  clouds. 

UBEDA.  O  friend  of  mine — 1 

Enter  ALARCON. 

ALARCON.     Sir,  I  have  returned  to  offer  you 
A  rank  among  my  men  as  fits  your  blood. 
UBEDA.     He  has  not  heard. 

ALAR.  O  then  we'll  lighten  him. 

I  am  the  Admiral  of  the  Argonauts  — 
PERTH.     The  Argonauts  1     Jason  is  dead  and  dust, 
The  Golden  Fleece  was  but  a  thin  marsh  light, 
The  grave-torch  of  Desire. 
ALAR.  Our  Fleece  is  new, 

We  sail  toward  the  star  that  draws  the  pole  — 
PERTH.     Toward  the  star !    You  go  by  way  of  the  sky  ? 
ALAR.     Why  yes,  beneath  it. 
PERTH.  O  beneath,  beneath, 

That  is  to  stay  within  the  selfsame  place. 
ALAR.     No,  for  we'll  sail  for  many  and  many  a  league, 
But  in  the  end  the  thing  we  seek  will  find  us, 
For  like  all  things  'twill  have  an  ending. 
PERTH.  Ashes. 

ALAR.     Under  the  wise  lode-planet  we  will  find 
All  the  desires  of  men  since  Genesis. 
Lost  Eden  has  revealed  itself  again ; 
A  priest  named  Nizza  has  discovered  it. 
UBEDA.     He  has  indeed  seen  many  hidden  things. 
All  good  things  have  been  rarer  since  man's  fall, 
And  who  shall  say  we  will  not  find  them  there  ? 


28  EL  DORADO 

ALAR.     Great  wealth ! 

UBEDA.  Honour ! 

ALAR.  And  Fame  I 

UBEDA.  And  even  Love ! 

ALAR.     And  Youth  1 

PERTH.  Youth ! 

UBEDA.  No,  there  may  be  many  things 

But  never  that.     Time  Past  cannot  be  born 

Of  Now  or  Time-to-come. 

ALAR.  Yes,  even  Youth ; 

For  I  was  with  Don  Ponce  de  Leon 

In  Florida  unto  dark  Bimini. 

UBEDA.     'Twas  not  there  ? 

ALAR.  No,  but  as  we  fought  our  way 

Back  to  the  world,  a  native  told  to  me 

The  secret ;  it  is  in  this  same  dim  north 

And  in  the  place  Fray  Nizza  calls  Quevera. 

UBEDA.     Let  us  not  fledge  our  hopes  on  pinnacles, 

For  they  will  soar  full  high  even  from  the  gulphs. 

ALAR.     Think  of  the  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola, 

With  all  its  roofs  of  gold. 

PERTH.  O  God,  roofs  !  roofs  1 

Always  the  Screen.  — 

ALAR.  But  will  you  sail  with  us  ? 

You  shall  be  listed  as  an  officer. 

PERTH.     The  stars  are  sown  too  thick. — 

ALAR.  Sir  ? 

PERTH.  Will  I  sail? 

I  thank  you  Sir.     And  you  most  true  and  kind. 

ALAR.     But  will  you  sail  ? 

PERTH.  Who  knows  ? 


EL  DORADO  29 

UBEDA.  He  must  have  time 

To  gather  thoughts  and  mould  his  mind  again. 

ALAR.     He  must  decide,  we  march  within  the  hour. 

UBEDA.     Then  start  without  us,  I  will  bide  with  him 

And  overtake  the  retinue  to-morrow. 

ALAR.     And  bring  him  with  you  ? 

UBEDA.  It  may  be. 

ALAR.  Farewell  then. 

UBEDA.     Farewell. 

[Exit  ALARCON. 

PERTH.  Farewell !    There  is  a  word  I  know  I 

UBEDA.     Come  with  me  to  the  outside  air  and  light 

And  we  will  talk  of  hope  and  of  this  sailing. 

PERTH.     Dead  leaves  —  they  do  not  sail  —  they  drift 
—  are  blown. 

Who  blows  them  ?    Why,  a  wind.  —  What  wind  ?  — 
Darkness. 

Upon  what  sea?  Of  dreaming — 1   Dreaming  what?  — 

Who  dreams  ?  —  More  darkness  — 

UBEDA.  Outside  it  is  noon  ! 

And  I  will  make  you  see  it  1 

[PERTH  moves  toward  the  door  with  the  same 
indifferent  air  which  he  has  borne  through 
out  the  scene.  As  he  moves,  a  ray  of  bright 
light  falls  upon  his  face  from  a  high,  barred 
window.  He  starts  violently  and  shades 
his  eyes,  then  slowly  allows  it  to  shine  full 
in  his  face. 

PERTH.     \_As  though  trying  to  recall  a  memory^ 

Sunlight ! 

UBEDA.  Come  1 


30  EL  DORADO 


SCENE  3.  —  Afternoon  of  the  same  day.  In  front  of  the 
Palace.  The  exterior  of  the  buildings  presents  a  curi 
ous  mixture  of  Moorish,  Gothic,  and  Mexican  architec 
ture.  In  many  places  the  carved  stones  of  old  temples 
are  built  intact  into  the  walls.  Shattered  and  over 
thrown  images  and  monstrous  broken  statues  lie  about 
as  they  fell  eighteen  years  before. 

On  the  right  is  CORONADO  at  the  head  of  the  main 
body  of  the  expedition.  He  keeps  his  eyes  intently  on 
the  company  with  the  VICEROY,  who  is  standing  above 
in  a  balcony  surrounded  by  his  court.  To  the  left  of 
the  square  is  ALARCON  at  the  head  of  the  naval  de 
tachment.  In  the  background  appears  the  populace. 
The  SOLDIERS  and  SAILORS  are  brave  in  their  flashing 
parade  accoutrements.  Over  them  wave  banners  and 
pennants  bearing  the  royal  arms.  All  faces  are  bright 
with  hope  and  expectation. 

A  CAPTAIN.     Ground  arms  ! 

A  VOICE.  Bravo,  Don  Coronado  1 

A  HERALD.  Silence  1 

ANOTHER  VOICE.     And  brave  Alarcon  1 

THE  HERALD.  Hush,  the  Viceroy  speaks ! 

MENDOZA.     Captains  and  soldiers  of  the  western  world, 

God  and  the  King  of  Spain  have  given  you 

All  things  that  mortal  men  have  held  most  dear 

Since  grief  began,  for  they  are  yours  already. 

They  merely  wait  until  you  go  and  seize  them. 

You  will  see  trials,  no  doubt,  but  you  are  strong 


EL  DORADO  31 

And  the  reward  awaits.     Each  soldier  shall  possess 

What  seems  most  dear  to  him.     To  some  'tis  gold ! 

To  others,  Beauty  1  Knowledge  I  Visions  !  Youth  ! 

Let  each  man  take  his  fill  and  afterward 

Return  to  us  • —  but  not  with  empty  hands. 

Don  Francis  Coronado  will  proceed 

To  Compostella,  there  reorganize 

With  more  recruits  and  then  march  to  the  north 

And  victory.     You,  Don  Alarcon,  sail 

As  Admiral  along  the  western  shore 

North  from  Natividad,  explore  the  coast 

And  somewhere  in  the  northland  strive  to  meet 

Don  Coronado  and  there  reinforce  him. 

A  HERALD.     Both  land  and  naval  columns  march  at 

once. 

A  VOICE.     A  brave  speech  1 
A  CAPTAIN.  Shoulder  arms ! 

A  WOMAN.  Alarcon ! 

A  CAPTAIN.  March ! 

\_Exeunt  the  two  columns  by  distinctly  separate 
ways  ;  CORONADO'S  to  the  left,  ALARCON'S 
to  the  right.  CORONADO  keeps  his  eyes  al 
ways  on  the  balcony  and  marches  away. 

A  WOMAN.     See,  Coronado  turns  his  brave  eyes  back 
ward. 

20  WOMAN.     'Tis  eyes  in  search  of  eyes. 
IST  WOMAN.  Not  yours,  I  warrant. 

AN  AGED  MAN.     If  I  were  not  so  old  — 
A  CHILD.  Let's  follow  them. 

[Exeunt  all. 


32  EL  DORADO 


SCENE    4.  —  The   same.  —  Enter   PERTH   and  UBEDA 
slowly. 

UBEDA.  Here's  a  flower.    [Plucking  one.~\ 

PERTH.  Yes,  —  flowers. 

UBEDA.  Do  you  remember  them  ? 

PERTH.  A  few ;  three  roses  and  one  violet. 

UBEDA.  Does  the  sun  now  seem  warm  to  you  ? 

PERTH.  Yes,  —  outside 

Upon  my  garments  and  even  on  my  flesh. 

UBEDA.  Lean  now  against  this  tree.    How  strong  it  is  ! 

PERTH.  Strange  proof,  thus  to  find  evil  even  in  trees. 

[The  sound  of  trumpets. 

UBEDA.     The  march  passes  the  walls  ;  if  we  go  now 

We  may  rejoin  them  there. 

PERTH.  It  would  be  useless. 

UBEDA.     In  what  way  ? 

PERTH.  If  to  go  would  be  an  ill, 

I  need  not  hasten  ;  it  will  come  to  me. 

And  if  a  good,  they  will  have  gone  too  far ; 

I  could  not  overtake  them. 

[Enter  CORONADO  breathless  and  wearing  the 
disordered  mien  of  one  in  great  mental  dis 
tress. 

COR.     [To  himself.}     She  was  not  there  I 
PERTH.     Not  there !     Why  no,  how  could  she  ?     She 

is  dead. 
COR.     God  — 


EL  DORADO  33 

UBEDA.     Peace,  how  could  he  mean  the  one  you  seek ! 

PERTH.     Not  her  1    Who  then  ? 

COR.  I  charge  you  by  your  cross  — 

UBEDA.     My  son,  you  are  Don  Francis  Coronado  ? 

COR.     But  she  — 

UBEDA.  Whom  do  you  seek  ? 

COR.  A  lady  of  court. 

UBEDA.     None  has  been  here. 

COR.  I  see  !    She  was  not  there  1 

She  never  would  have  failed  !     She  is  kept  prisoner  1 

O  Friar,  may  all  your  saints  damn  such  a  father  1 

For  it  was  he.     I'll  stay  — 

[The  trumpets  are  again  heard  more  faintly. 

UBEDA.  There  are  your  trumpets. 

COR.     She  —  What  grim  shade  are  you,  sent  here  to 
judge  me  ? 

Her  desperate  need  cries  with  a  voice  that  drowns  — 

UBEDA.     Your  honour? 

COR.  Can  it  be  ? 

\The  trumpets  are  again  heard. 

UBEDA.  Your  trumpets  call  you. 

COR.     It  is  no  call,  but  rather  do  their  sounds 

Lash  me  like  brazen  whips  away  from  her. 

They  shriek  two  names  to  me,  Honour  and  Hell. 

They  drive  me  with  two  words,  Duty  and  Death. 

Those  are  the  things  that  I  can  only  find 

Outside  her  arms ! 

\_PTe  remains  dumb  and  motionless  for  a  moment ', 
then  stretches  his  arms  with  abandonment 
of  great  yearning  toward  the  Palace^\ 


34  EL  DORADO 

O  Silent !    Wounded  !    Best ! 

If  you  have  ever  heard  the  unspoken  things, 

Hear  now ;  keep  to  the  end  our  unkept  tryst. 

Melt  some  one  link  from  all  the  chaining  flesh 

And  breathe  one  whisper  to  the  waiting  wind, 

To  bear  to  me  upon  the  road  to  — 

[He  turns  mechanically  toward  the  direction 
taken  by  the  troops.  The  trumpets  blow 
again  far  in  the  distance.  He  makes  to  go, 
but  moves  with  the  mien  of  one  who  is  blind. 
His  lips  frame  one  wordJ\ 

Where  1    [Exit. 

UBEDA.     That  man  is  Captain-General  of  the  force 

Proceeding  north  by  land  ;  a  brave,  true  soldier, 

But  he  is  young. 

PERTH.  I  would  have  known  his  youth, 

Though  he  had  worn  a  wrinkled,  palsied  body 

And  every  sign  of  age,  for  he  rebels 

Against  the  slumber  settled  on  his  eyes, 

He  struggles  yet.     Whose  name  was  it  he  called  ? 

UBEDA.     I  do  not  know.   He  leaves  some  heart  behind. 

PERTH.     Hearts  always  are  left  so.   'Tis  in  the  Dream. 
[Enter  BEATRIX  in  complete  armour  with  closed 
visor. 

BEATRIX.     Have  all  departed  ? 

UBEDA.  Sir,  you  are  tardy,  yes. 

Hasten,  for  even  now  they  pass  the  lake. 

BEAT.     I  —  have  not  been  enlisted  yet. 

UBEDA.  Then  come 

With  our  adventurers  who  go  north  by  sea. 

We  need  enforcement  more  than  those  by  land. 


EL  DORADO  35 

BEAT.     By  sea ! 

UBEDA.  Yes,  with  the  Admiral  Alarcon 

Who  is  to  join  the  Captain-General. 

BEAT.     Where  ? 

UBEDA.  Somewhere  in  the  dim  north. 

BEAT.     [Suddenly  after  a  pausel\  I  will  go. 

UBEDA.     Well  said.     And  now  I  pray  you  raise  your 

visor. 

BEAT.     I  cannot. 
UBEDA.  Why  ? 

BEAT.  I  am  a  fugitive. 

PERTH.     Why,  so  are  all  mankind ! 
UBEDA.  You  need  not  fear. 

We'll  not  betray  you,  for  this  northward  quest 
Is  righteous  and  a  penance  for  your  sins. 
BEAT.     If  you  should  know  me  you  would  ruin  all. 
UBEDA.     We  could  not  know  your  face,  for  I  arrived 
But  yesterday  from  Spain  to  join  Alarcon, 
And  this  poor  gentleman  to-day  was  freed 
From  thirty  years  in  dungeons. 

[She  raises  the  visor.~\ 

You  are  young  1 
PERTH.     [Starting.'}     A  boy  !     O  cruelty  !     He  is  too 

tender 

To  face  his  dream.  —  Ubeda,  I  was  older. 
Lad,  take  my  hand,  —  I  will  be  stronger  soon. 
And  then  I'll  help  you  bear  —  this  weight  of  sky. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 


SCENE  i.  —  Six  months  later.  The  deck  of  the  Santa 
Caterina,  ALARCON'S  flagship.  The  ship  is  anchored  in 
the  Colorado  River,  just  inside  the  sand-bars  that  stretch 
across  the  mouth  of  the  river  where  it  empties  into  the 
Gulf  of  California.  Nearby  are  discovered,  also  riding 
at  anchor,  the  two  other  ships  that  compose  the  fleet. 
Beyond  them  are  seen  the  sand-dunes  of  the  eastern  bank. 
On  the  deck  is  a  common  SAILOR,  sleeping.  Enter 
another  SAILOR  and  shakes  him. 

SAILOR.  Waken,  you  loose  piece  of  coiled  rope  !  You 
sleep  like  the  old  dried  dolphin  nailed  on  the  lid  of  the 
tar-vat !  You  were  only  on  in  two  watches  last  night, 
and  here  the  morning  is  almost  past. 

20  SAILOR.     \RousingI\     What  news? 

IST  SAILOR.  Now  there  you  do  yourself  proud,  to  ask 
such  a  question,  for  'tis  hard  to  answer. 

2D  SAILOR.  Why  no  question  is  hard  to  answer,  unless, 
indeed,  one  should  tell  the  truth. 

IST  SAILOR.  Well,  I  could  not  but  be  half  a  liar  to  this 
kind  of  question,  for  the  following  reason,  to  wit :  you 
ask  me  shortly,  "  What  news  ? "  Now  if  I  should 
answer  you  in  kind,  to  wit:  shortly  or  briefly  as, 
"  well "  or  "  ill "  I  would  be  giving  you  but  one  fin 
or  the  tail  of  this  slippery  fish  called  truth. 
39 


4o  EL  DORADO 

2D  SAILOR.     How  would  that  be  ? 

IST  SAILOR.  Because,  saying  "what  news"  you  mean 
the  weather. 

2D  SAILOR.     Yes. 

IST  SAILOR.  Now  if  you  mean  the  weather  that  God 
makes  out  of  water  and  sun  and  things  that  blow,  I 
could  say  truthfully,  "  all's  well,"  for  the  fog  lifts  and 
the  heat 's  as  warm  as  a  drink  of  bottled  things.  But 
if  you  mean  the  weather  that's  in  men's  hearts  on 
yonder  ship,  then  the  truth  flops  clear  of  the  wet  to 
shout "  ill,"  for  the  fog  is  on  their  souls  as  close  as  a 
house  on  land. 

2D  SAILOR.  Well,  the  Admiral  went  to  speak  to  them 
at  dawn  and  he'll  hearten  them. 

[Noises  from  the  water  below  the  deck's  edge, 
the  sound  of  oars  and  voices* 

A  VOICE.     Ho,  watch  1 

IST  SAILOR.     Here  they  come  back.     [Running  to  the 

side.~]     All's  well,  cast  up  1 
THE  VOICE.     Heave. 

Enter  over  the  ship's  side  ALARCON  and  his  suite. 

ALARCON.     Let  the  six  chiefest  officers  retire 
With  me  into  my  cabin.     In  an  hour 
We  will  announce  to  all  our  firm  decision 
Whether  to  go  or  stay. 

[Exeunt  ALARCON  and  OFFICERS,  the  rest  dis 
perse  into  groups  about  the  deck.  In  the  fore 
ground several 'SOLDIERS  and  SAILORS  meet. 

A  SAILOR.     He's  a  pale-hearted  fool  that  says  go  back. 


EL  DORADO  41 

\_The  SAILOR  is  dressed  in  dirty  leather.  He  is 
lithe,  muscular,  with  a  brutal,  drink-swollen 
face. 

A  SOLDIER.  I  would  rather  show  the  whiteness  of  my 
liver  than  of  my  bones,  as  they  would  bleach  on 
yonder  sands. 

THE  SAILOR.  Now  you  have  said  enough  for  the  yard- 
arm.  That's  mutiny !  . 

2D  SOLDIER.  Mutiny !  Now  there's  a  good  word. 
What  may  that  word  mean  ? 

THE  SAILOR.  'Tis  a  pudding  made  of  bilge-water  and 
wormy  meal  and  tastes  sweet  or  bitter  according  to 
how  long  'tis  cooked. 

30  SOLDIER.  Why  is  it  that  you  don't  want  to  go  back 
to  Mexico  ? 

THE  SAILOR.  We  must  all  bear  injustice.  Some  say  I 
did  a  thing  and  some  say  not,  but  the  man  died,  and  — 

4TH  SOLDIER.     A  rope  has  a  claw  with  a  reach. 

THE  SAILOR.     Well,  now  you  are  wise. 

[Exeunt  all  save  the  SAILOR.  Enter  BEATRIX 
from  behind  a  mast  where  she  has  evidently 
been  listening.  She  is  no  longer  in  mail,  but 
is  clothed  in  the  garb  of  a  page. 

BEATRIX.     Will  they  return  ? 

SAILOR.     \Turningwith  his  hand  on  his  knife. ~\    How's 

this?     The  Admiral's  page  spying? 
BEAT.     Not  by  his  authority.     'Tis  but  a  personal  fear 

against  returning. 
SAILOR.     Against !    Ho,  ho  I    So  you  too  have  done  a 

thing  to  dangle  for.     Save  us  from  hell  1     Here's  a 


42  EL  DORADO 

youngster  !  How  can  such  a  pretty  fellow  lead  so  ill  a 
life  ?  You're  the  whitest  thing  I  ever  saw  that  had 
rolled  in  the  pitch  of  sin.  Well,  you'll  hang  all  the 
earlier. 

BEAT.     I  fear  no  death,  but  I'll  not  return  with  Alarcon. 

SAILOR.     Good !    If   he  decides  to  go  back  I  leave 
him.     How  with  you  ? 

BEAT.     Do  you  think  we  could  meet  —  the  land  expe 
dition  ? 

SAILOR.     Most  likely,  but  even  the  doubt  is  better  than 
to  make  the  midnight  wind  a  rattle  !     Will  you  go  ? 

BEAT.     Try  the  men  and  see  how  many  will  go  with  us. 

SAILOR.     Shall  I  tell  them  you'll  go  ? 

BEAT.     I  will  not  return  with  Alarcon. 

[Exit  SAILOR.] 
Enter  PERTH  and  UBEDA  talking  earnestly. 

[To  PERTH.]     Good  morning  Sir. 

PERTH.     [Looking  intently  at  herl\    May  all  the  day  be 

fair 

With  you  as  it  is  now.     Is  it  as  fair 
This  morning  to  be  young  ? 
BEAT.     [Going.']     I  have  not  thought. 
Ah,  I  am  called.  [Exit. 

UBEDA.  What  do  you  gaze  on  now  ? 

PERTH.     If  they  had  only  left  me  some  one  thing, 
Ubeda,  out  of  all  the  utter  wreck  ! 
Some  little  thing,  to  own,  to  feel,  to  cherish,  — 
Some  little  stricken  blossom  out  of  all 
That  ruined  garden,  O  I  would  have  reared  it 
So  tenderly,  so  gently  pity-full  1 


EL  DORADO  43 

UBEDA.     You  could  not  have  done  so  while  you  were 

prisoned. 

PERTH.     No,  I  forgot,  the  wretched  gardener  perished 
With  his  one  bloom.  — 

UBEDA.  What  stirred  the  mist  again 

Within  your  heart  ?    You  have  been  faintly  cheerful. 
PERTH.     A  blessed  dew  called  Youth  fell  in  the  old 

days! 

It  was  a  lulling  balm  that  healed  all  grievings. 
'Tis  gone  !  I  lost  it  1  And  yet,  I  remember 
How  soft !  How  solacing  1  All  suffering 
Was  soothed  and  made  more  bearable  for  men 
By  this  far,  perilous  spell  of  Youth  —  Youth ! 
UBEDA.     What  stirred  the  mist  ? 

PERTH.  The  presence  of  the  page. 

I  never  watch  his  fairness  without  thinking 
How  I  might  now  be  finding  my  old  hours 
Renewed  in  some  such  form.     If  those  dead  days 
Had  not  been  pitiless  to  all  the  living, 
They  might  have  left  a  son  to  me.  — 
UBEDA.  They  did  1 

O  brave,  sweet  soldier,  fasten  now  your  mind 
Within  your  eyes  1     It  roves  too  much  to  the  sky. 
And  even  your  eyes  have  fed  too  much  on  air  1 
PERTH.     You  said  —  I  heard  —  you  told  me  — 
UBEDA.  Yes,  of  truth. 

You  have  a  son.     He  is  no  doubt  alive. 
PERTH.     In  what  world  ? 
UBEDA.  This ! 

PERTH.  In  this  world  all  are  dead. 

UBEDA.     Not  all  in  this  world. 


44  EL  DORADO 

PERTH.  There  was  but  one  to  die. 

UBEDA.     Know  then,  she  faded  and  passed  within  that 

year, 

But  there  was  one  of  whom  you  never  knew, 
Who  lived  and  who  was  cared  for  by  the  Church 
Until  three  years  of  age  and  then  delivered 
To  a  kind-hearted  noble  for  adoption, 
Who,  dying  childless,  gave  the  boy  his  name.  — 

[PERTH  has  started  with  the  gesture  of  one  who 
awakes,  and  in  his  eyes  is  a  light  new  to 
them.] 

You  doubt.  — 

PERTH.     No,  for  I  seem  to  have  known  it  all 
Through  all  these  years  !  Some  lost  voice  told  me  of  it ! 
O  Little  Voice,  you  wailed  in  vain  for  her ! 
And  Tender  Hands,  you  stretched,  but  to  touch  air  1 
She  was  not  there  1     Nor  I  who  might  have  helped  1 
O  does  he  know  of  me  ? 
UBEDA.  He  never  knew. 

PERTH.     And    now   he    shall.     Poor,    desolate,   little 

Headl 

The  time  grows  short,  —  we  will  not  have  to  wait 
Much  longer,  —  I  will  come,  though  late  —  to  help. 
Then  you  shall  lean  on  me,  I'll  give  you  strength, 
And  we  will  talk  of  her  who  will  not  be  there, 
But  you  will  be  there,  you  —  with  Youth  for  me  ! 
UBEDA.     The  years  veer  like  the  winds  and  as  they 

shift, 

So  all  things  mortal.     He  is  now  a  man, 
A  name  he  has,  but  with  impoverished  lands, 
His  fortunes  are  not  fixed.     He  must  not  know. 


EL  DORADO  45 

He  struggled  long  and  now  builds  toward  greatness. 
Seek  not  to  crush  the  work  of  all  these  years. 
He  would  proclaim  his  birth  unto  all  men, 
And  men  would  echo  him  again  with  ruin  I 
For  who  would  ask  if  prison  were  unjust  ? 

[PERTH'S  head  bows  again  as  though  with  the 
heaviest  weight  of  all,  but  the  fire  just  lighted 
in  his  eyes  does  not  die. 

PERTH.     But  I  may  know  a  name  ? 

UBEDA.  I  dare  not  tell  you. 

It  is  the  Church's  secret !     It  is  best. 

PERTH.     How  should  I  know  him  out  of  all  the  world  ? 

UBEDA.     I  must  not  speak  his  name. 

PERTH.  But  if  you  perish 

And  it  would  die  with  you  ? 

UBEDA.  Then  by  this  sign : 

Upon  his  hand  the  crucifix  is  branded ! 

He  did  it  foolishly  in  youth  as  penance 

For  some  imagined  fault.     The  scar  is  seared. 

The  cross  shows  white  and  plainly  on  the  flesh  1 

PERTH.     Which  hand  ? 

UBEDA.  The  right. 

PERTH.  I  thank  you  for  this  much. 

'Tis  something.     I  will  search  the  world  for  hands  1 

And  when  I  find  him  I  will  know  him  then, 

That  will  be  all  —  he  will  not  know.     But  I  — 

I  may  —  who  knows  but  that  I  shall  —  in  secret 

Be  helpful  to  him,  warm  him  with  my  love, 

Love  which  he  cannot  give  again  to  me. 

How  could  he  ?    It  is  best  —  he  will  not  know. 


46  EL  DORADO 

O  eyes,  when  you  first  look  upon  his  face, 
Wear  masks,  lest  something  in  you  speak  to  him. 

0  lips,  put  fetters  on  the  thing  within  — 
Fetters,  fetters !     I  thought  long  ago, 

There  in  the  dark,  that  I  had  done  with  chains  1 

1  did  not  know. 

Enter  a  HERALD  followed  by  ALARCON,  his  suite  and 
the  crew.  All  faces  are  joyous  save  that  of  ALARCON. 
He  speaks  in  a  monotonous  tone  half  to  himself. 

THE  HERALD.     Let  all  the  officers 

Attend  the  Admiral's  announcement. 

ALARCON.  Friends, 

We  have  tried  and  failed.     There  is  no  more  to  say. 

I  merely  speak  now  to  encourage  you 

To  face  what  will  be  harder  than  this  north. 

'Twill  take  a  braver  spirit  to  return 

Than  to  remain.     For  Welcome  only  smiles 

Upon  successful  men,  and  we  are  failures. 

As  for  Don  Coronado  and  his  men, 

They  have,  no  doubt,  ere  this  reached  that  far  land, 

Found  their  desires  and  do  not  need  our  aid. 

Yet  we  have  tried.     You  are  all  brave  and  strong, 

And  ruin  seems  unjust ;  some  are  still  young 

And  may  win  Fortune  back.     But  I  am  old. 

Age  is  a  heavy  thing  —  what  sound  was  that  ? 

\_Noises  of  cries  and  running  feet  and  splashes 
are  heard  below  and  from  the  water.  En 
ter  a  SAILOR  running. 

SAILOR.  Two  men  have  pushed  off  with  a  head  for 
shore  1 


EL  DORADO  47 

ALAR.     Where  ? 

SAILOR.  Here,  off  port ! 

AN  OFFICER  We  cannot  catch  them  now. 

They  have  the  new  longboat. 

ALAR.  There  is  no  need, 

We  want  no  cowards  to  return. 

PERTH.  Who  are  they  ? 

UBEDA.     I  cannot  tell. 

ALAR.  WThat  does  the  lookout  say  ? 

A  SAILOR.     [From  the  shrouds.']     I  see  them  now  1    It 

is  the  Admiral's  page  ! 
UBEDA.     The  boy  1 
PERTH.  And  helpless ! 

[They  exchange  a  hurried  glance  and  rush  below. 

ALAR.  Tristan  !     He's  no  coward  1 

Some  one  has  led  him  off !    Who  is  the  man  ? 

THE  LOOKOUT.     A  convict  from  the  galleys. 

ALAR.  Bring  them  back  1 

The  boy  is  mad  I 

AN  OFFICER.     [From  the  ships  side."}    Some  one  starts 

in  pursuit. 

Look,  there  slips  the  old  boat  beneath  our  bows ! 
ALAR.     Who's  in  her  ? 

AN  OFFICER.  One  is  the  good  priest,  Ubeda, 

The  other  is  the  silent  English  soldier ! 
ALAR.     Good  1    They  are  men  will  bring  them  back  or 

die! 

[  The  LOOKOUT  aloft  gives  a  fry.] 
What  now ! 
LOOKOUT.     The  first  boat  beaches  1 


48  EL  DORADO 

ALAR.  That  is  well, 

Pursuit  will  be  far  easier  by  land. 
Poor  little  Tristan  !    Youth  makes  him  unhappy  — 
And  how  with  me  ?    Oh,  is  it  age  —  or  life  ? 


SCENE  2.  —  Afternoon  of  same  day.  A  desolate  and  rocky 
place  on  the  eastern  shore.  The  end  of  a  small  blind 
canon.  Enter  BEATRIX  in  armour  with  raised  visor. 
She  is  stopped  by  wall  of  rock  to  which  she  turns  her 
back  and  faces  PERTH  who  follows  close  behind. 

PERTH.     You  must  be  mad !     This  heat  has  turned 

your  brain  1 

BEATRIX.     Perhaps  —  [To  herself]  —  but  not  my  heart. 
PERTH.  What  would  you  do  ? 

BEAT.     Stay  here. 
PERTH.  To  starve  ? 

BEAT.  I  have  starved  all  my  life. 

It  will  be  no  new  thing. 
PERTH.  But  all  your  life  ! 

What  words  !     You  know  not  what  life  is. 
BEAT.  Do  you  ? 

PERTH.     Do  I  know  what  life  is !     It  is  to  starve. 
BEAT.     Return  to  hunger  then,  I  will  seek  food. 
I  know  not  with  what  spirit  you  pursue  me. 
If  it  is  kindness,  you  are  thanked.     Then  go. 
If  you  wish  cruelty  —  you  shall  thank  me. 
For  I  will  show  you  blood  of  mine  or  yours. 
PERTH.     Poor  troubled  boy  —         [He  approaches  her. 
BEAT.     [In  desperate  excitement^     Stand  back  ! 

[She  draws  her  sword. 


EL  DORADO  49 

PERTH.  You  must  return. 

Upon  the  ship  your  mind  will  come  again. 

[He  goes  nearer. 
BEAT.     [Fiercely. ~\     Back ! 

PERTH.  It  grows  late.     Your  arm  is  not  like  mine. 

See,  mine  is  trained. 

BEAT.  Once  more,  do  not  advance  ! 

PERTH.     Be  wary  then,  stand  fast,  I  will  not  harm  you. 

[He  draws  his  sword. ,] 
The  sport  may  smooth  your   brow.     Watch   for   my 

trick, 

For  at  the  third  pass  I  will  have  your  weapon 
By  the  old  Stratford  twist  — 
BEAT.  You  shall  have  death ! 

[He  advances  a  pace.     She  rushes  desperately 
at  him.  They  fight.  PERTH  coolly,  BEATRIX 
with  hot,  murderous  intent. 
PERTH.     Once ! 
BEAT.  Back  1 

PERTH.  Twice  1 

BEAT.  Queen  of  Heaven  — ! 

PERTH.  Three  times ! 

[He  twists  the  sword  from  her  hand. 
BEAT.  Ah ! 

[She  falls  fainting  into  a  half-sitting  posture 
against  the  sloping  wall  of  rock  at  her  back. 

PERTH.     Sweet  lad,  you   are  not   wounded !     'Tis   a 

swoon.  [He  goes  to  her.} 

The  corselet  binds  his  neck  and  breast  —  here's  air  — 


50  EL  DORADO 

\He  tears  open  her  armour  at  the  throat  and 
bends  over  to  listen  at  her  heart,  then  stag 
gers  back.] 

Dear  God  —  \She  stirs  and  half  rises. 

BEAT.  Mary  — 

[She  sees  PERTH  staring  at  her  and  stands  up 
right  clutching  her  loosened  corselet  at  the 
throat.'} 

You  know  — 

PERTH.  O  pitiful ! 

BEAT.     What  will  you  do  ? 

PERTH.  Who  are  you  ? 

BEAT.  You  know  not, 

Nor  shall. 

PERTH.       Why  did  you  come  ? 

BEAT.  It  is  a  vow 

To  Holy  Church.     Now  go. 

PERTH.  Where  ? 

BEAT.  To  the  ships. 

PERTH.     With  you. 

BEAT.  No,  not  alive  1 

Enter  UBEDA. 

UBEDA.  Have  done  with  words. 

The  ships  are  gone  1 
BEAT.  Gone ! 

UBEDA.  See  where  the  low  sun 

Reddens  that  highest  rock.     An  hour  ago 
I  gained  that  point  to  overlook  the  fleet 
In  time  to  see  each  weary-freighted  galleon 
Swing  slowly  from  her  moorings  and  point  south. 


EL  DORADO  51 

PERTH.     Alarcon ! 

UBEDA.  He  is  blameless.     When  we  landed 

We  first  ran  southward  and  we  did  not  turn 

While  their  strained   eyes   could   follow.     They  now 

think 

To  coast  down  stream  attending  us  to-night 
And  sight  us  at  the  dawn. 
PERTH.  But  they  will  not. 

UBEDA.     No,  we  can  never  overtake  them  now. 
BEAT.     Mother  of  Pity,  I  thank  thee  for  this  boon  ! 
UBEDA.     [Looking  at  her.']     Poor  lad  — 
PERTH.  Ubeda,  do  you  see? 

UBEDA.  Ah  yes,  still  mad. 

PERTH.     O  do  you  not  see  what  the  pity  is  ? 
BEAT.     It  is  not  now  a  thing  deserving  pity 
More  than  at  any  time  since  that  far  day 
When  God's  own  mother  knew  her  earliest  grief. 
UBEDA.     A  woman  1     Well,  God  has  no  bitterer  grief 
In  store  for  you  than  that  you  should  be  here. 
How  happens  it  ? 

PERTH.  She  says  it  is  a  vow. 

UBEDA.     Are  you  a  nun  ? 

BEAT.  Yes,  of  a  secret  order. 

I  go  to  set  up  new  shrines  to  my  patron. 
UBEDA.     The  one  shrine  now  left  to  us  is  the  grave. 
PERTH.     A  hope  remains. 

UBEDA.  Remains !     And  on  your  lips  1 

PERTH.     Only  the  hope  of  further  life,  no  more. 
At  noon,  hot  in  pursuit,  I  passed  a  village 
Where  dwell  a  people  native  to  this  place  — 
Rude,  kindly  men  who  made  me  know  by  signs, 


52  EL  DORADO 

Pointing  toward  the  birthplace  of  the  sun, 

That  there  they  had  seen  men  like  to  ourselves. 

BEAT.     Life ! 

UBEDA.  And  how  far  ? 

PERTH.  A  journey  of  ten  days. 

UBEDA.     It  is  the  only  path  left  for  our  feet. 

PERTH.     Where  is  the  convict  ? 

UBEDA.  I  have  left  him  bound 

The  third  part  of  a  league  below  this  place. 

PERTH.     No  doubt  his  wrongs  are  many,  being,  as 

he  is, 

A  living  thing.     He  must  share  in  our  hope. 
UBEDA.     He  shall. 

PERTH.  Yet  she  —  he  left  the  ship  with  her. 

'Tis  best  that  she  continue  to  appear 
To  him  the  page,  a  boy. 
UBEDA.  He  shall  not  know. 

PERTH.     When  you  return  I  will  go  seek  for  her 
Some  lodgment  in  the  village  through  this  night 
Where  she  may  have  a  woman  to  attend  her. 

\Exit  UBEDA. 

[PERTH  stands  silent  for  a  time  during  which 
BEATRIX  several  times  tries  to  strengthen 
her  will  to  speak.  At  last  she  does  so. 

BEAT.     Forgive  me. 

PERTH.  And  for  what  ? 

BEAT.  All  my  wild  words 

To  you  who  are  so  gentle. 

PERTH.  Yesterday 

And  yesterhour  and  all  past  time  leaves  us 


EL  DORADO  53 

Nothing,  not  even  ourselves.     We  change  and  change 

Ever,  not  being  aware  till  afterward. 

Would  it  not  be  idle  to  remember  words? 

Bubbles  of  bubbles  ?    Light  things,  wandering  chords, 

Voiced  by  a  passing  and  impermanent  wind  ? 

BEAT.     I  myself  do  not  change. 

PERTH.  Ah,  do  you  not  ? 

And  yet  an  hour  ago  you  seemed  to  be 

What  now  you  are  not. 

BEAT.  Yet  an  hour  ago 

My  soul  composed  itself  of  the  same  thing 

That  fills  it  with  one  hope,  one  wish,  one  will : 
To  journey  eastward. 

PERTH.     [Dreamily  as  he  looks  at  her.~\ 

What  is  in  the  east  ? 

BEAT.     Did  you  not  say  he  said,  "  men  like  ourselves  "  ? 
PERTH.     So  — 

BEAT.  It  is  —  Coronado  and  his  men  ! 

PERTH.     [Still  as  in  a  dream  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
face.~\     You  go  to  set  up  shrines,  and  to  what  saint  ? 
BEAT.     No  saint,  but  to  an  image  of  all  the  world. 
PERTH.     Look,  in  the  west  are  images  enough  1 
BEAT.     It  is  red. 

PERTH.  But  with  the  red  of  ruins, 

Ruins  of  flaming  shrines,  not  one  remains 
Inviolate  as  the  devouring  sun 
Deepens  its  wormlike  course  to  the  world's  edge. 
Below  it  wait  the  gilded  images, 
Behind,  above,  a  train  of  dying  sparks. 
BEAT.     O,  but  to-morrow  !  [She  turns  her  face. 

PERTH.  And  what  then  ? 


54  EL  DORADO 

BEAT.  The  east ! 

PERTH.     [Starting.}     Ah,  yes  —  I  had  forgotten  —  I 

-O  God, 

This  is  that  spirit  of  Youth's  Hope  that  died  ! 
Died  ?     It  was  hardly  born.     'Twas  buried  with  me 
In  the  first  darkness. 

BEAT.  Hope  is  not  a  spirit. 

It  is  a  sea  stretching  before  our  path. 
Ah,  it  is  sweet  1  sweet !     How  else  could  I  live, 
Or  any  mortal  thing  ?    Sir,  take  my  hand. 
May  I  not  help  ?    The  sea  is  infinite. 
Can  you  catch  some  sound  or  sight  of  it  ? 
PERTH.     Yes,  it  is  in  your  eyes  like  some  great  blossom 
Poised  on  the  vibrant  bosom  of  a  pool. 
BEAT.     But,  oh,  do  you  not  also  see  it  there  ? 

[She  points  to  the  east. 

PERTH.     The  curtain  of  the  years  hangs  like  the  night 
Across  the  world,  — 

[She  turns  again  to  him.~\ 

Yet  dawn  is  in  your  eyes. 

BEAT.     And  in  yours  too,  there  is  reflected  light. 
PERTH.     Is  it  so  ? 

BEAT.  There  is  a  light  as  of  old  embers 

Rekindling. 

PERTH.          Fragments  of  old  dawns  are  there. 
BEAT.     I  see  them  ! 

PERTH.  Or  some  long-since  buried  sun, 

Now  ice  and  iron. 

BEAT.  But  they  begin  to  glow 

Faintly  into  a  hint  of  rose-hued  fire. 
PERTH.     It  is  from  the  east.    [  With  his  eyes  on  hers. 


EL  DORADO 


55 


BEAT.  Yet  in  the  east. 

It  may  leap  into  flame. 

\He  does  not  take  his  eyes  from  hers,  but  stands 
silent.] 

Sir,  do  you  sleep  ? 
PERTH.     \_Finally  ronsing.~\     I  do  not  know  which  is 

the  sleep  and  which 
The  awakening. 

Enter  UBEDA  with  the  CONVICT,  who  stands  some  dis 
tance  apart  from  the  others. 

UBEDA.  The  man  will  go  with  us. 

Take  heart !  behold  a  sign  there  overhead  ! 

The  sky  is  clear ;  we  seem  to  have  left  behind 

That  evening  cloud-bank  westward. 

PERTH.  In  the  west 

To-day's  sun  dies,  being  old. 

BEAT.  But  in  the  east  — 

PERTH.  To-morrow  1 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 


SCENE  i .  —  Night.  —  Ten  days  later.  —  Interior  of  the 
West  Room  in  Casa  Grande,  Arizona.  The  room  is 
large,  rectangular,  and  lined  with  red  ochre  glazed  like 
enamel.  The  audience  is  supposed  to  look  into  one  of 
the  long  sides  of  the  Hall.  Near  the  right  end  of  the 
rear  wall  is  a  low  doorway.  Against  the  wall  of  the 
right  end  is  fixed  a  large  beam  evidently  fallen  from 
the  roof.  Toward  the  right  from  the  center  of  the  room 
and  nearly  on  a  line  with  the  doorway,  is  a  great  pile 
of  camp  trappings  ;  blankets,  cloaks,  arms.  Upon  this 
heap  is  seated  CORONADO.  His  head  is  sunken  on  his 
breast,  his  eyes  are  staring,  and  his  dress  greatly  dis 
ordered.  His  appearance  is  that  of  one  plunged  in  the 
most  abject  despair  and  wretchedness  of  body  and  mind. 
Most  of  the  time  he  does  not  raise  his  head.  Before 
him  stands  an  OFFICER  of  the  guard. 

OFFICER.     The  outside  watch  was   first  to   question 

them. 

CORONADO.     What  manner  of  beings  are  they  ? 
OFF.  One  's  a  man. 

The  second  is  fashioned  like  a  slender  youth. 
The  third  one  is  -a  priest.     The  fourth,  a  slave. 
COR.     First  I  will  see  the  man. 

\_Exit  OFFICER.] 
More  and  yet  more 
59 


60  EL  DORADO 

Each  scorpion  hour  along  each  bleeding  league 
Drives  me  more  close  toward  the  desperate  truth. 
Wraiths,  fogs,  mists,  clouds,  what  a  chimera  quest ! 
All  was  before  my  eyes  yet  nothing  seen. 
Mendoza  or  Estrada,  Hate  or  Fear, 
One  of  these  two,  or  both,  by  these  foul  means 
Has  thus  rid  Mexico  of  all  its  flower. 
Estrada  1    It  was  he  that  prisoned  her  1 
'Tis  he  that  sends  me  out  to  die,  and  now  — 

Enter  OFFICER  with  PERTH. 

O  creeping  things  !     He  dogs  me  with  these  spies ! 

I've  heard  your  story. 

PERTH.  It  is  well  — 

COR.  A  lie ! 

The  tale  was  sickly  and  is  dead  already. 

All  lie  !    There  is  no  truth  !    Fray  Nizza  lied  ! 

We  have  seen  no  gold  save  in  the  fatal  sun. 

Dry  flats,  like  those  in  upper  hell,  led  on 

Only  to  hills  more  desolate  with  thirst. 

And  red  lights  mocked  our  thirst,  and  yellow  lights 

Our  dreams  of  bread.     And  every  purple  night 

Was  charged  with  unseen  cohorts  of  the  pit 

And  unknown  dread,  until  this  night,  and  now  — 

Now  they  assume  the  likenesses  of  spies  1 

Enough !    Summon  the  priest. 

\The  OFFICER  goes  to  the  doorway  and  im 
mediately  returns  with  UBEDA.] 

You  feign  to  have  come 
North  with  Alarcon  ? 


EL  DORADO  61 

UBEDA.  Feign ! 

COR.  Where  is  Alarcon  ? 

UBEDA.     He  has  returned  to  Port  Natividad. 

COR.     And  where  is  that  ? 

UBEDA.  Upon  a  mighty  gulf 

Thwarted  from  the  main  sea  by  certain  lands 

Named  California. 

COR.  O  perverted  tongue  ! 

Natividad  looks  on  the  open  sea. 

\_He  turns  to  the  OFFICER  with  a  gesture  of  dis 
gust.} 
Another ! 

[The  OFFICER  brings  the  CONVICT  from  the 

doorway} 

Fellow,  are  you  too  a  liar  ? 

CONVICT.     Why  yes,  I  am  alive,  and  all  who  live 
Must  cheat  the  gibbet  some  way,  and  a  lie 
Is  but  a  way.     Yes,  it  is  my  way. 
COR.  Faugh  1 

Bring  in  the  other. 

[The  OFFICER  brings  in  BEATRIX  armoured 
and  with  closed  visor} 

Put  your  beaver  up. 

[There  is  a  pause  during  which  BEATRIX  stands 
shrinkingly.  Then,  at  a  gesture  of  impa 
tience  from  CORONADO,  the  OFFICER  makes 
as  though  he  would  force  the  beaver.  At 
this  movement  PERTH  moves  threateningly 

toward  him} 

0  .  ,  {Pointing  to  PERTH. 

Seize  me  that  man  ! 

[PERTH  is  seized  and  bound. 


62  EL  DORADO 

UBEDA.     [Raising  his  crucifix  warningly.~\     The  face 

must  not  be  seen. 

It  is  a  vow  to  Rome,  and  Peter's  curse 
Rests  upon  him  who  violates. 
COR.     [Recoiling.}  The  Church ! 

UBEDA.     Vows  have  been  made  not  to  unveil  the  face 
Or  even  speak  till  all  things  be  fulfilled. 
COR.     The  chain  is  now  complete  ;  if  at  the  first 
Suspicion  was  afloat,  now  it  is  grounded. 
I  know  you  well,  false  priest,  and  you,  grey  man. 
From  the  first  day  your  face  has  haunted  me. 
That  day  I  sought  a  lady,  you  were  there  I 
Even  then  you  were  Estrada's  loathsome  henchman. 
As  for  the  raising  of  that  visor  front 
I  care  not.     I  have  seen  deceit  enough. 
But  one  thing  troubles  me :  this  friar's  cowl 
Is  worn  unworthy,  yet  Rome's  beneath  it. 
I  may  not  touch  —  but  you,  and  you,  and  you 
Diel 

UBEDA.     You  are  mad ! 

COR.     [  Wildly}  Words  to  the  winds !     At  dawn 

Death  comes.     Go,  let  them  now  be  shrived. 

[PERTH  makes  a  despairing  movement  toward 

BEATRIX  and  then  turns  to  CORONADO. 
PERTH.     You  know  not  what  you  do.     This  iron  shell 
Holds  all  the  tenderness  in  earth  or  sky, 
A  — 

[BEATRIX  starts  forward  with  a  warning  ges 
ture  ;  he  pauses. 

COR.     How  he  raves !     He's  in  no  mood  for  shriving. 
Bide  here  awhile.     Bind  him  against  that  pillar. 


EL  DORADO  63 

His  soul  cannot  be  saved  while  his  rage  foams. 
Let  the  flood  first  subside.     Lead  out  the  others. 

[The  OFFICER  binds  PERTH  to  the  right  end 
wall  of  the  room. 

UBEDA.     May  I  have  speech  with  him  ? 

COR.  No  plots  avail, 

Yet  —  pray,  you  two,  bearing  in  memory 

That  schemes  to  save  his  body  are  all  futile. 

Quiet  his  soul  and  you  will  do  your  utmost. 

[Exeunt  all  save  PERTH  and  UBEDA,  BEATRIX 
and  the  CONVICT  being  carefully  guarded. 

PERTH.     Follow  him  !    Cut  these  thongs  1    O  Name  of 

God! 

She,  even  she,  like  all  the  rest  of  it 
Vanishes.     She  will  suffer  pain  !     Go,  go  ! 
Tell  of  her  womanhood !  — 
UBEDA.  We  vowed  to  her 

To  hold  that  above  all  things  secretly ; 
Yet  I  will  break  oath  if  all  else  does  fail. 
You  too  are  safe.     Be  without  thought  of  death. 
I  hold  within  my  memory  a  thing 
Which,  whispered  into  Coron ado's  ear, 
Will  set  you  free,  but  I  will  whisper  nothing 
Till  all  else  fails.     That  he  has  suffered  wrongs 
Is  evident.     His  mind  peers  to  the  abyss. 
PERTH.     Wrongs !    He  has  suffered  wrongs,  and  he 

would  give 

Wounds  to  a  human  soul,  pain  to  a  body  ? 
Pain  to  a  body  and  soul  like  hers  ?     Ubeda, 


64  EL  DORADO 

What  can  he  know  of  evil  who  does  so  ? 

Why  we,  who  know  pain,  stand  before  one  painless 

Like  her,  as  one  who  looks  on  all  of  heaven. 

Her  eyes  blind  me.     Her  breath  bereaves  my  lips. 

Her  hands  have  made  mine  feeble  in  her  presence. 

Her  silences  have  drenched  me  with  all  music. 

The  faintest,  tender  stirring  of  her  voice 

Makes  mute  my  own.     Her  hair  has  made  this  desert 

A  shadowed  place  alive  with  bloom.     Her  brow 

Has  awed  me  like  some  symbol  of  the  sky.  — 

The  images  of  seas  of  fire  and  snow 

Pent  in  the  colours  of  her  blood  and  flesh, 

Drown  me. 

UBEDA.         O  has  the  thing  I  watched  and  feared 

Grown  so  beyond  all  reckoning? 

PERTH.  You  feared!    What? 

UBEDA.     That  which  is  audible  without  your  voice. 

PERTH.     Ah,  what  ? 

UBEDA.  The  deadliest  hurt  of  all  your  life. 

PERTH.     Put  it  in  words. 

UBEDA.  You  love  her. 

[PERTH'S  head  sinks.] 
Then  if  Death, 

Utmost,  forgetful  Death,  could  come  to  you 
This  hour,  it  might  be  wise  and  best. 
PERTH.  And  why  ? 

She  is  no  nun  1 

UBEDA.  I  know  not  who  she  is, 

Or  if  her  love  is  given  to  any  man ; 
But  love  had  filled  her  eyes  already  full 
Before  she  came. 


EL  DORADO  65 

PERTH.     Her  eyes  have  shown  me  dawn. 

UBEDA.     Think  of  the  years  that  passed  you  in  the 

night. 

She  holds  you  as  a  father,  but  no  more. 
PERTH.  Her  eyes  have  shown  me  day. 
UBEDA.  But  nothing  more. 

The  love  you  seek,  the  urge  of  youth  for  youth, 
She  cannot  give  you,  for  between  you,  Time 
With  visible  sword  and  unreturning  face 
Drives  you  by  separate  paths,  alone,  apart. 
PERTH.    The  world  has  grown  athrob  with  crimson  fire, 
And  shall  no  spark  find  lodgment  in  my  heart? 
UBEDA.     Have  you  forgotten  all  ?    The  search  ?     The 

sign? 

The  cross  ?     The  hand  ? 
PERTH.  The  boy  1 

UBEDA.  He  is  not  dead. 

[Enter  a  SOLDIER  leading  BEATRIX,  whom  he 
chains  to  the  long  wall  in  the  background 
and  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  doorway.  The 
positions  of  PERTH  and  BEATRIX  are  there 
fore  at  near  points  on  the  lines  of  the  same 
right  angle. 

SOLDIER.     This  one  is  shrived.  [Exit. 

UBEDA.  I  will  go  seek  Don  Francis 

And  reason  with  him  if  I  find  him  calm.  [Exit. 


66  EL  DORADO 


SCENE  2.  —  The  same.  —  PERTH  and  BEATRIX  remain 
in  silence  for  a  time.  Finally  she  raises  her  hands 
to  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  both  weariness  and 
longing. 

PERTH.     I  pray  you  raise  the  casque. 

[She  lifts  the  visor.} 
There  are  no  tears 

Nor  trace  of  any  anguish  on  your  face  1 
BEATRIX.     What  hour  is  it  ? 

PERTH.  I  do  not  know ;  'tis  late. 

BEAT.     The  night  is  hot,  I  would  some  water  came : 
A  little  —  in  a  hand  —  [To  herself  ~\  a  hand  I  know. 
PERTH.     You  suffer !   I  will  call  the  guard  — 
BEAT.  Do  not. 

The  thing  has  passed. 

PERTH.  Your  eyes  rove  ceaselessly 

Toward  the  door,  as  with  some  new-lit  fire 
Of  eagerness. 

BEAT.  Will  he  not  soon  return  ? 

PERTH.     Who? 

BEAT.  He  whose  voice  I  heard. 

PERTH.  Don  Coronado's? 

BEAT.     What  other  sound  was  there  to  hear  ? 
PERTH.  Fear  nothing. 

BEAT.     I  do  not,  'tis  not  long  till  dawn,  and  then  — 
PERTH.     It  will  not  be  the  end. 
BEAT.  No,  the  beginning. 

PERTH.     I  will  disclose  to  him  how  far  remote 


EL  DORADO  67 

That  steely  veil  is  from  the  veil  of  you, 

The  you  that  wears  no  mask  but  womanhood. 

BEAT.     Are  you  a  breaker  of  vows  ? 

PERTH.  'Tis  for  your  life. 

BEAT.     I  bind  you  to  your  oath.     When  that  last  hour 

Sheds  its  great  period  of  joy  upon  me 

I  promise  he  shall  know. 

PERTH.  Then  you  are  safe. 

The  martyrdom  you  seek  shall  not  be  found. 

He  will  not  then  give  you  to  Death.     He  could  not, 

Knowing. 

BEAT.         Let  be  then,  if  you  so  believe. 

Trouble  no  more. 

PERTH.  I  will  not.     After  all, 

Even  afterward  Ubeda's  gentle  spirit 

Will  guard  and  give  you  shelter  —  afterward. 

BEAT.     After?  Ah,  you  —  he  said  it  —  and  you,  too, 

Will  die,  and  on  my  head  your  death  I 

PERTH.  Not  yours, 

Nor  against  any  mortal  thing  can  blood  be. 

All  is  upon  the  secret,  never  mortal, 

Above,  beyond,  behind  us ;  the  pursuer. 

BEAT.     No,  I  am  not  deceived,  I  led  you  here. 

My  will  has  been  the  cause,  though  if  unwitting 

Let  the  saints  judge,  'twill  be  recorded  justly. 

In  this  last  hour  I  am  not  penitent. 

A  great  and  numbing  calm  is  over  me. 

PERTH.     It  seems  to  fold  me  also  in  its  wings, 

A  calm  more  riotous  than  any  storm. 

BEAT.     I  seem  part  of  the  dumb,  unfeeling  earth, 

Earth  that  awaits  the  sun  to  quicken  it, 


68  EL  DORADO 

And  yet  —  out  of  all  dead  regrets,  one  only, 

One  figure,  yours — looms  grey  before  my  face. 

Your  tenderness,  your  gentle  offices 

Which  I  have  paid  with  death.     I  would  I  might 

Now,  last  of  all  give  something  —  if  't  could  be, 

Some  leaven  for  all  the  woe  that  I  have  brought, 

Some  recompense,  —  but  there  is  nothing  left. 

The  dawn  is  all  I  have,  but,  ah  —  the  dawn ! 

PERTH.     [Mistaking  her.~\     You  would  have  given  of 

youth  —  to  me? 

BEAT.    Ah,  Youth !  You  still  desire  as  though  'twere  real  ? 
Why,  'tis  no  tangible  thing  that  one  might  give. 
Yet  if  it  were,  you  would  have  all  of  it, 
All  I  possess.     And  yet —  'tis  but  a  hue. 
PERTH.     [  With  a  great  light  of  peace  in  his  eyes.~\ 
It  is  enough.     See,  there  above  our  heads ! 
BEAT.     The  roof  is  shattered. 

PERTH.  And  the  night  pours  in 

Softly  from  its  exhaustless  silences. 
I  have  so  little  time  —  only  the  night 
Before  I  join  it,  but  I  ask  no  more  — 
Till  dawn  the  dark  was  all,  and  now,  this  hour, 
The  dawn  has  come. 

BEAT.  Why  no,  'tis  yet  long  hours 

Away. 

PERTH.     The  fallacies  of  day  and  night 
Fade  for  this  little  while  before  my  eyes 
And  in  their  place  a  radiance  has  sprung 
That  knows  no  periods.     It  is  the  flame 
That  crowns  the  eternal  terraces  of  stars 
From  which  the  suns  are  hurled  1     It  is  the  light 


EL  DORADO  69 

That  gilds  the  flinty  ramparts  of  the  moon ! 

It  is  the  abiding  torch  of  silver  glow 

Within  the  zone-gem  of  unchanging  morning! 

BEAT.     I  see  no  light,  yet  I  am  glad  for  you, 

For  in  your  eyes  my  words  seem  to  have  lit 

Something,  some  good,  but  whether  peace  or  hope, 

Or  even  happiness,  I  know  not,  yet  'tis  good ; 

So  I  am  glad.     Ah,  how  the  hours  crawl  on ! 

This  quiet  deafens  me  —  there  is  a  sound  1 

No,  it  was  here  within.     There  !    What  was  that  ? 

PERTH.     [  With  his  eyes  upon  her  face.']     Music. 

BEAT.         Why  no,  there  is  no  sound  —  but  —  silence. 

PERTH.     Silence  outside,  but  we  two  are  within. 

BEAT.     Something  approaches  swiftly,  I  am  cold. 

PERTH.     Have  no  fear. 

BEAT.  'Tis  fear  itself.     Ah  —  now  1 

Enter  a  SOLDIER. 

\He  tinchains  BEATRIX  and  starts  out  with  her. 
PERTH.     What  is  it  ?    I  am  bound  —  but  one  word  — 
what? 

[Exit  SOLDIER  with  BEATRIX. 


SCENE  3.  —  The  same.  —  Enter  stealthily  in  a  crouching 
attitude  the  CONVICT.  Once  inside,  however,  his  man 
ner  becomes  one  of  bold  and  insolent  bravado.  He 
stands  before  PERTH  with  arms  akimbo. 

CONVICT.  Trussed  1  And  well  done  too,  or  I  was  born 
blind.  Well,  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  the  doors 
barred  once  in  a  while  ;  so  we  get  a  chart  of  the  cells 


70  EL  DORADO 

and  the  prisoners  named.  For  look  you,  in  each 
part  of  the  body  of  man  dwells  an  old  comrade.  The 
right  hand  \_Pointing  to  Perth's  hand  with  a  knife\ , 
his  name  is  Murder,  and  a  very  high-coloured  blade 
he  is.  Watch  him,  for  he  is  given  to  picking  locks. 
The  left  hand  [Pointing]  in  there  is  Friend  Thievery. 
Feed  him  well,  for  he  pays  for  his  keep.  They're  not 
all  good,  though,  for  here  in  the  lowest  dungeons  are 
the  feet,  and  well  they  deserve  their  place.  Bawds, 
panders,  that  have  led  me  as  bravely  to  a  noose  as 
they  ever  did  to  wine  or  a  wench.  There  be  some 
doors  left  open.  Here's  one,  the  mouth.  Inside  dwells 
Lying,  a  very  trusty  fellow  once,  but  long  ago  worn 
out ;  he  is  old,  he  is  old.  And  the  eyes,  there's  cells 
that  have  held  many  a  prisoner.  \_He  at  last  sees  the 
gaze  that  PERTH  bends  upon  him.]  Jesu!  There's 
devils  in  them  now!  [Slinking  backward.]  Take 
them  off  me  !  I  meant  nothing. 

PERTH.  Where  did  the  soldier  lead  —  the  one  in  ar 
mour? 

CONVICT.  Soon  told.  It  wras  the  moon,  the  moon 
played  us  false,  for  somehow  it  sifted  into  the  eyes 
of  the  young  lord  and  he  sees  no  colour  but  red. 
When  the  priest  begged  leave  to  plead  for  us  he 
raved  like  a  devil,  and  now  he  will  not  wait  till  morn 
ing.  From  midnight,  each  hour  one  of  us  dies.  Ha ! 
have  no  care,  the  boy  dies  first.  Much  may  happen 
before  our  time  comes.  When  I  heard  him  give  the 
order  I  bit  my  bonds  off,  and  here's  a  tooth  will  bit 
yours,  for  two  rats  can  break  the  trap  better  than 
one. 


EL  DORADO  71 

\_He  cuts  PERTH'S  bonds.     PERTH  upon  being 
released  dashes  toward  the  doorway.     The 
CONVICT  stays  him  before  he  reaches  /'/.] 
Go  not  out !    There's  nothing  there  but  death.     He  is 

coming  within  here. 
PERTH.     Who,  Death? 

CONVICT.  Why  no,  the  young  lord.  \A  trumpet  sounds •.] 
There  is  the  signal  for  sleep.  He  lodges  in  this  room, 
he'll  be  here  in  a  breath.  We  will  crouch  in  the  shade, 
and  when  his  dreams  overtake  him,  —  we  will  over 
take  his  dreams. 

[PERTH  suffers  himself  to  be  stayed  as  one  not 
conscious  of  what  he  does.  He  walks  slowly 
back  to  the  center  of  the  room.     His  lips 
move. 
PERTH.     Her  arms  —  her  breast  —  helpless  — 

\_Before  his  eyes  is  the  center  stone  with  the  sol 
dierly  trappings  upon  it.    Prominent  among 
them  are  two  arquebuses.     As  he  stands  he 
gradually  comes  to  see  them. 
CONVICT.     \_A t  his  back.~\     But  one  swift  stroke  — 

[PERTH  starts  as  though  smitten  and  stands  for 
a  moment.    Then  steadily  and  with  full  and 
cold  determination  he  takes  the  guns  and  ex 
amines  them  carefully.     They  are  loaded. 
They  are  of  the   wheel-lock   variety,   and 
he  winds  the  wheels.     He  then  takes  one, 
leaving  the  other  on  the  stone '.] 
\_Starting  forwardl\      Too   loud.     We  want 
no  noise. 


72  EL  DORADO 

PERTH.     [Leveling  the  gun  at  htm.']    Men  of  my  race 

Do  not  strike  from  behind,  or  against  sleep, 

Or  even  in  silence,  if  it  be  unfair. 

[  The  CONVICT  moves  toward  him  snarling  and 
threateningly.  ] 

Back  to  the  shadows.     Death  is  here. 

[The  CONVICT  stops  and  PERTH  turns  toward 
the  doorway,  taking  a  few  steps  as  though 
listening.  He  has  utterly  forgotten  the 
presence  of  the  CONVICT  who,  after  standing 
motionless  for  a  moment,  begins  stealthily  to 
creep  toward  PERTH,  his  face  convulsed  with 
rage  and  his  dagger  ready  to  strike.  Just 
as  he  is  about  to  do  so  PERTH  slowly  turns, 
impelled  by  occult  instinct  of  danger.  He 
holds  the  CONVICT  with  his  eyes,  then  walks 
slowly  toward  him,  the  CONVICT  slowly  re 
treating  until  he  has  reached  a  darkened  cor 
ner  down  stage,  left,  where  he  remains  quelled 
for  the  time,  but  alert  and  venomotts.~\ 

There  wait. 

[Throughout  the  latter  part  of  the  past  action 
noises  have  beenheard  outside,  of  men  talking 
and  tramping.  They  grow  steadily  louder. 
PERTH  now  half  turns  and  listens  for  a 
moment,  then  going  to  the  place  where  he 
was  bound  he  places  his  back  to  the  stone 
and  stands  in  an  attitude  suggesting  his  for 
mer  position,  yet  retaining  the  arquebuse. 
Enter  CORONADO  still  more  disheveled  and 
wild.  He  shouts  back  angrily  an  order 


EL  DORADO  73 

from  the  threshold,  then  advancing  into  the 
center  of  the  room  he  suddenly  pauses, 
passes  his  hand  over  his  brow  with  a  ges 
ture  of  desperate  weariness  and  longing ; 
his  mood  changes  and  he  seems  about  to  col 
lapse.  He  stands  so  for  a  moment,  then,  as 
by  instinct,  slowly  raises  his  eyes  and  sees 
PERTH  facing him  with  the  arquebuse  raised 
and  leveled  at  his  breast."] 

The  hour  is  late.     Soon  time  will  reach  midnight, 
Upon  whose  sombre  and  ghost-yielding  stroke 
You  have  ordained  to  stain  the  dark  with  death. 
You  will  revoke  that  doom.  \He  waits  for  reply, .] 

Time  still  goes  on  — 
You  will  annul  the  order —  \_He  pauses  again.] 

I  would  wait 

But  the  impatient  minutes  would  touch  twelve, 
And  at  the  touch  one  dies.     It  shall  not  be 
The  armoured  prisoner !     It  shall  not  be 
You,  if  the  prisoner's  sentence  is  made  void  — 
By  you,  instead  of  Death.  —  \_He  again  waits]   Choose. 
[Another pause '.]  Now.  [A  silence  ensues.]  'Tis  ended. 
Do  not  think  of  Justice  as  a  thing 
Now  dead.     You  shall  avenge.     There  is  requital. 

\_He  points  to  the  arquebuse  on  the  stone  at  Co- 
RONADO'S  side.  CORONADO  has  through 
out  remained  motionless  and  dumb  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  PERTH  as  though  fascinated 
by  something  in  a  dream.  He  now  slowly 
turns  his  gaze  upon  the  gun] 


74  EL  DORADO 

You  do  not  go  alone.     Take  up  the  piece. 

[CORONADO  slowly  comes  to  understand  the 
words  and  mechanically  takes  the  gun  and 
points  it,  fumbling  at  the  lock  as  if  for  the 
match.~\ 

The  lock  is  wound.     You  shall  give  word  to  fire. 

\_As  they  face  each  other,  UBEDA  appears  in  the 
doorway.  He  stands  aghast  for  a  second, 
then  makes  an  instinctive  movement  toward 
them  as  though  to  save.  PERTH  sees  and 
addresses  himj\ 

Bide  there.     You  cannot  stay  the  fatal  wings 

That  hover  over  us.      [To  COR.]     I  wait  the  signal. 

\_To  UBEDA.]     Move  not  or  he  shall  die  though  he  be 
dumb. 

[Again  to  COR.]     Once  more.     Declare  the  sign. 

[UBEDA  makes  again  as  though  he  would 
move  to  stay  them,  but  PERTH  immediately 
steadies  his  aim  at  CORONADO  as  though  to 
fire  at  once,  and  the  PRIEST  again  pauses, 
seemingly  torn  by  some  inward  struggle. 
Twice  he  essays  to  speak,  then  finally,  seem 
ing  to  cast  aside  some  inner  voice,  he  breaks 
silence. 

UBEDA.     [Pointing  to  CORONADO.]     The  sign  is  there  1 

Not  for  your  ears,  but  for  your  soul's  own  eyes  ! 

Look  on  the  hand  that  fingers  there  your  death  I 

The  right !     The  cross  is  there  1     You  have  the  sign  1 
[PERTH  realizes  that  CORONADO  is  his  son.  An 
instant  later  the  CONVICT,  who  has  until 


EL  DORADO  75 

now  remained  in  his  corner  behind  CORO 
NADO,  imknown  to  any  save  PERTH,  creeps 
swiftly  and  stealthily  out  with  his  dagger 
raised  to  strike  CORONADO  in  the  back. 
PERTH  sees  and  acts  instantaneously,  shift 
ing  his  gun  toward  the  CONVICT  and  touch 
ing  it  off  just  as  the  dagger  is  about  to  fall. 
The  CONVICT  pitches  to  the  ground.  In 
stantly  all  is  confusion.  Outside  is  heard 
the  sounds  of  the  camp  awakening.  GUARDS 
rush  to  the  door.  PERTH  stands  motionless, 
his  gun  fallen,  gazing  at  CORONADO,  who 
seems  to  have  been  only  half  awakened  from 
his  dream-like  state  by  the  shot. 

VOICES  OUTSIDE.     Ho,  guard  !    Within  ! 

Enter  an  OFFICER  pushing  aside  the  GUARDS  who  crowd 
the  doorway. 

OFFICER.  Stand  back  1  What  violence  here  ? 

Don  Francis,  did  you  call  ? 

COR.  \_Unnerved,  pointing  to  PERTH.]  Lead  him 
without. 

UBEDA.  [Springing  forward. ~\  Yield  me  but  two  gifts 
for  an  instant's  use. 

Your  eyes  and  brain.     Look  upon  this  dead  hand  1 

See  what  it  holds  !     Think  what  it  meant  to  do  I 

Know  it  is  dead  and  you  alive  !   By  what  ? 

Not  by  the  grace  of  one  who  is  a  spy ; 

For  spies  are  enemies  to  their  victim's  safety. 

So,  if  he  spied,  'twas  only  on  the  act 

Of  him  he  killed.     Will  you  now  let  him  die  ? 

Being  innocent  ?     Being  saviour  of  your  life  ? 


76  EL  DORADO 

COR.     [Shuddering,  yet  half  convinced.']    I  did  not  see. 
[To  the  OFFICERS  and  GUARDS.]     Leave  us. 

[He  motions  for  them  to  remove  the  body  of  the 
CONVICT.     They  do   so.     Exeunt  all  but 
CORONADO,  UBEDA,  and  PERTH.] 
\_Doubtingly. ~\     He  sought  to  slay  me.  — 

UBEDA.     Yet  would  not  see  you  slain  dishonourably. 

COR.     Ha  1    Is  it  true  ? 

UBEDA.  He  only  sought  your  life 

To  save  another. 

COR.     \_After  a  long  pause .]     Yes,  of  a  truth  he  did. 

And   yet — he   wished   my  death.  —  Yet  —  saved  me 
from  it.     [Suddenly  deciding.'] 

The  deed  outweighs  the  earlier  intention, 

And  neither  shows  him  less  than  honourable. 

Sir,  forgive  me.     If  I  have  seemed  bloody, 

It  was  —  the  wound  ;  a  wound  I  have  received 

That  numbs  my  judgment  and  makes  all  the  world 

Appear  masked  as  a  plotter  to  deceive  me. 

[Since  the  shot  PERTH  has  never  taken  his  eyes 
from  CORONADO.  He  seems  not  conscious 
of  what  is  being  said.  Btit  now  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet  and  the  tramp  of  feet  are  heard 
just  outside  and  figures  with  torches  are 
seen,  through  the  doorway,  passing.  PERTH 
starts  violently  and  turns  to  the  door. 

PERTH.     The  hour  ?    O  God !    Hasten,  or  even  now 

The  life  will  still  elude  us ! 

COR.  What  life  ? 

PERTH.     {Running  to  the  doorway,  where  he  is  stopped  by 
the  GUARDS.]  All  1 


EL  DORADO  77 

UBEDA.     The  prisoner  who  there  passes  to  the  death. 


'Tis  midnight  — 


COR.     [Remembering.']  Hold !  The  order  will  be  stayed 
For  furtner  hearing.     [To  the  GUARDS.]     Summon  the 

condemned. 
UBEDA.     Hearing  there  can  be  none  save  from  our 

mouths. 

The  prisoner's  lips  are  sealed.  \He  signs  the  .cross. 

PERTH.  Yet  for  those  lips 

I  whom  you  have  judged  innocent  will  vouch 
And  give  my  life  as  surety. 
COR.  Enough 

Blood  has  been  shed.     Something  is  satiated, 
Something,  I  know  not  what.     Malignant  fiend 
Or  sneering  fate  whatever  name  it  bears 
'Gainst  which  suspicion  is  my  only  blade 
Has  for  a  time  withdrawn.     I  may  disarm. 

[BEATRIX  is  led  in  and  CORONADO  addresses  the 
GUARD.] 

The  prisoners  are  free.     Let  each  be  given 

Such  lodgment  as  we  have  for  officers. 

Show  them  their  several  tents.     \To  BEATRIX.]     You 
have  a  vow, 

I  will  not  hold  you  from  fulfilling  it. 

Go  now. 

[  With  sudden  abandonment  of  love  under  mask 
of  gratitude,  BEATRIX  kneels,  takes  his  hand 
and  presses  it  to  the  helmet,  then  to  her 
breast.  CORONADO  beholds  the  gesture  with 
the  mien  of  one  who  receives  a  mortal 


78  EL  DORADO 

wound.     He  stares  at  her  a  moment,  then 
with  a  cry  of  desperation  he  speaks] 

What  is  it  ?     I  —  the  deadly  wound  ! 
It  never  heals.     [To  himself]     'Twas  something  in  the 
gesture.         [He  turns  weakly  to  PERTH  and  UBEDA.] 
Stay,  do  not  leave  me  yet.     It  is  a  fever 
—  I  must  not  be  alone. 

[BEATRIX,  under  stress  of  powerful  emotion, 
has  staggered  to  the  doorway,  where  she 
would  fall  but  is  supported  by  UBEDA  who 
reaches  her  first. 

UBEDA.  The  pilgrim  faints 

And  must  retire.     'Tis  weariness. 
COR.     [Feebly.]  The  guard 

Will  see  him  safely  to  his  quarters ;  go. 

[UBEDA  summons  the  GUARD  from  just  with 
out  and  gives  BEATRIX,  who  has  now  re 
covered    consciousness,     into    his    charge. 
Exeunt  BEATRIX  and  GUARD.] 
Speak  to  me,  gentlemen !     I  must  not  hear  it !     [He 

seems  to  listen  to  something  unheard  by  the  others] 
The  voice  1     It  calls  me  now  1 

PERTH.     [Standing   before    him   with    his    eyes   fixed. 
Dreamily]  The  voice  !     Ah,  yes. 

COR.     Silence !     You  do  not  hear.     It  is  a  moan 
Only  for  me  and  burdened  with  one  word, 
"  Return  !  "     Why  not  ?     [  Wildly  and  half  to  himself] 

What  is  there  here  for  her  ? 
Not  gold.     And  gold  was  all  I  came  to  seek  — 
For  her  —  to  purchase  life.     And  here  is  only 


EL  DORADO  79 

Death,  and  the  echoing  sob  that  wails  my  name 
And  begs  my  presence.     \He  pauses  to  listen^     It  is 
ended  now. 

[He  speaks  to  empty  air.~\ 

Rest  you,  dear  heart,  this  night.    At  dawn  we  start. 

PERTH.     Where  ? 

COR.     [More  wildly.']     To  the  bourne  of  best  desires 

behind  us. 

PERTH.     You  would  lose  all ! 
COR.  Ha,  lose  1    No  !    Find  ! 

PERTH.  And  what  ? 

COR.     More  than  I  gain  by  keeping  on  the  way. 
Before  me  there  is  nothing. 
PERTH.  But  behind  — 

COR.     Is  life ! 

PERTH.  Ah,  no,  but  death. 

COR.  Be  it  so  ;  death  lulls. 

\To  himself.']     A  breast  awaits  me  there  to  die  upon. 
PERTH.     Yet  even  within  the  briefness  of  this  moment 
You  begged  that  we  might  speak  and  deafen  you 
To  this  false  summons. 

COR.  O  God,  speak  again  ! 

I  must  not  falter  so. 

PERTH.  Hold  fast  my  hand. 

COR.     Why  do  you  search  me  with  your  eyes  ?   You  too 
Have  suffered.     Even  now  it  writhes  within  you. 

[PERTH,  at  the  words,  gazes  at  CORONADO 
with  such  great  longing  and  sorrow  that  the 
PRIEST,  fearing  he  will  break  silence,  bends 
forward  and  speaks  to  him  aside. 


8o  EL  DORADO 

UBEDA.     You  that  have  heard,  remember,  other  ears 
Must  still  be  deaf,  and  you  with  lips  released, 
Prison  your  tongue. 

COR.  Have  you  no  word  of  help  ? 

PERTH.     {Controlling  himself  with  a  visible  effort^ 
You  will  not  falter  now.     Far  in  the  south 
There  gleams  an  orb  that  seems  to  lure  you  back 
ward. 

Use  it  not  so ;  it  is  a  beacon  lit 
To  guide  a  conqueror.     It  would  be  obscured 
If  you  should  face  it  now  with  vanquished  eyes. 
Within  the  northern  sky  its  lonely  mate 
Burns  its  white  fire  nor  ever  lets  us  know 
How  it  may  yearn  toward  the  opposite  heaven. 
COR.     The   sky  is  cold.     Your  words  creep  in  like 

winter, 

Cooling  the  feverish  blood  only  to  freeze  it. 
PERTH.     \After  a  pause.~\     And    of   your   birth  —  be 

worthy. 

COR.  Ha  !     My  birth ! 

Have  I  so  sunk  as  to  need  such  reminder  ? 
"  Be  worthy,"  yes,  it  means,  be  strong,  be  true, 
And  brave  —  and  proud  1     For  such  has  been  the  race 
That  bore  me.  — 

You  have  won,  —  your  low-breathed  words 
Stir  in  me  like  the  clarion  of  trumpets. 
I  will  not  falter  now.     To  you  the  thanks 
Belong.     What  man  are  you  ?     You  seem  to  me 
Some  cloud  shaped  like  a  man,  sent  from  the  sky 
To  cool  my  heated  vision  of  despair. 
Who  are  you  ? 


EL  DORADO  81 

[The  PRIEST  involuntarily  makes  a  gesture  of 
warning  to  PERTH,  but  PERTH  does  not 
seem  to  have  heard  the  question. 

PERTH.  Shaped,  say  you  ?    O  more  !    What  part 

Of  all  these  clay-born  shadows  that  here  strut 
And  seem  to  will  is  not  a  driven  mist, 
All  grey  ?    Though  some  that  face  the  dawn  seem  tinted, 
Yet  the  first  breath  of  day  dispels  their  colours, 
And  with  the  earliest  breath  of  fearsome  night 
They  themselves  disappear. 
COR.  Ah,  you  are  right, 

'Tis  not  the  hour  for  questions.     [He  pauses  and  looks 

at  PERTH,  who  remains  with   his  eyes  fixed  upon 

CORONADO  as  though  he  did  not  hear.~\ 

Well,  muse  on, 

To-morrow  you  may  tell  your  name  and  rank. 
The  night  grows  old,  let  us  all  search  for  sleep. 

[PERTH  mechanically  makes  to  go.~\ 
Not  so;  bide  here.     We  will  seek  other  quarters. 
I  owe  you  much  and  I  may  yet  again 
Owe  more ;  the  pitfalls  cluster,  I  am  weak. 
PERTH.    You  will  not  stumble  now,  the  prize  is  near  — 
And  you  have  youth,  and  whosoe'er  has  youth  — 
Has  all,  I  —  am  not  young. 

COR.  What  ?     You  wish  youth  ? 

You  whose  very  years  have  been  the  oil 
That  soothed  me  ?     Strange  !     Yet  be  of  better  cheer. 
'Tis  there  I 

PERTH.     [Dully.]     Where  ? 

COR.  In  that  Eden  that  awaits  us, 

Eastward  from  the  Seven  Cities  of  Gold. 


82  EL  DORADO 

Even  yesterday  I  questioned  one  returning ; 
A  sun-born  native  stripling  in  whom  youth 
Seethed  like  a  tide  of  dawn ;  yet  he  was  older 
Than  twice  a  thousand  years !     Each  time  he  felt 
The  withering  beckoner  within  his  blood, 
He  sought  Quevera  and  the  hidden  source, 
Laved  his  old  limbs  in  that  immortal  rain 
And  lived  again  ! 

[He  starts  to  go  and  addresses  UBEDA.] 

Come,  brother,  you  shall  sleep 
Within  my  hall  to  give  me  aid  at  sunrise, 
With  early  mass  and  orison.  [To  PERTH.]   Good  night. 
UBEDA.     [To  PERTH.]     And  peace  be  with  you. 
COR.     [Pausing  on  the  threshold^     And  remember  still 
The  Font  is  there  I  [He  points  to  the  northeast. 

[Exeunt  CORONADO  and  UBEDA.  PERTH  fol 
lows  CORONADO  with  his  eyes  filled  with  un 
utterable  longing  until  he  has  gone. 

PERTH.  O  God,  'tis  everywhere  1 

But  where  for  me  ?     Youth,  love,  or  hope  fulfilled, 

Whatever  dew  distils  from  out  its  depths, 

Sparkles  till  it  has  lured  my  eager  lips 

And  then  sinks  back.     'Tis  in  his  desolate  heart  — 

And  yet  I  may  not  drink.     'Tis  in  her  eyes  — 

And  yet  my  own  cannot  be  cooled  by  it. 

The  wilderness  of  life  is  full  of  wells, 

But  each  is  barred  and  walled  about  and  guarded. 

The  ocean's  floor  of  moving  emerald 

Holds  not  one  drop  in  all  its  depths  for  me. 

The  liquid  arch  of  dawn,  the  plangent  seas 


EL  DORADO  83 

That  foam  with  all  the  stars,  draw  back  their  waves 
To  lonely  heights  that  mock  my  upraised  face 
With  thirsts  that  look  to  me  as  I  to  them. 

The  Source  !     Can  it  be  true  ?     O  may  it  not  be  ? 

May  it  not  at  last  await  me  in  that  garden 

To  which  we  bleed  our  way  through  all  this  waste  ?  — 

One  cup  —  some  little  chalice  that  will  hold 

One  drop  that  will  not  shudder  into  mist 

Till  I  have  drained  it.     Can  it  be  ? 

\He  looks  up  through  the  broken  ceiling.'] 

The  night 

Dreams  like  a  child  that  waits,  and  may  not  I, 
Whose  portion  seems  to  be  only  —  the  night  — 
Share  also  its  untroubled  —  hope  ? 

[He  stands  for  a  moment  so  ;  looking  up  and 
repeats  the  word  as  though  speaking  to 
some  one.~\ 

—  Hope. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  IV 


SCENE  i .  —  One  year  later.  Between  midnight  and 
dawn.  The  top  of  bluffs  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mis 
souri  River.  SOLDIERS  encamped.  Some  asleep,  some 
gambling,  others  talking.  In  the  foreground  is  CORO- 
NADO  seated  with  a  young  OFFICER  who  is  playing  a 
lute  and  singing.  Back  of  them  is  PERTH  wrapped  in 
his  cloak,  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  and  stopping 
from  time  to  time. 

THE  OFFICER.     \_SingingI\ 

I  knew  some  dream  had  spelled  her  by 

Her  charmed  air. 

Would  God  I  might  have  held  her  by 

Her  long,  bright  hair ! 

I  gave  her  something  like  a  star, 

And  she  gave  me,  instead, 

Roses,  but  the  roses  are 

Dead. 
CORONADO.     No  more  such  songs.     Why  should  all 

sounds  to-night 
Be  sad? 

A  YOUTH.     Yet  still  sing  something. 
THE  SINGER.  Why  not  this  ? 

[Singing^     Tears,  the  blood  of  Old  Love's  ghost  — 
COR.     That  speaks  no  lighter  dreaming. 
THE  YOUTH.  Sing  to  us 

Something  that  breathes  of  hearts,  yet  tells  no  sadness. 

87 


88  EL  DORADO 

THE  SINGER.     No  mouth  has  breath  in  it  that  could 

so  sing. 

COR.     Give  us  some  piece  tuned  to  the  summer  night, 
Warm  with  the  call  of  memories  of  kisses. 
THE  SINGER.     Of  them  I  cannot  sing,  they  sing  them 
selves, 

But  of  the  hour  when  they  are  born  I  will : 
[Singing.] 

What  is  it  calls  to  me,  sweet,  sweet, 

Out  of  the  night  ? 
Lo,  a  star  comes  down  with  soundless  feet 

And  a  sudden  light. 
It  has  shown  one  singing  a  thing  of  hope 

With  a  tune  of  fears. 
The  words  now  run  to  a  joy,  now  grope 

To  a  place  of  tears. 
Whose  eyes  are  these  that  were  made  to  weep, 

But  never  see  ? 
What  voice  is  this  that  wafts  all  sleep 

From  night  and  me  ? 
O  face  of  the  wild,  wild  brow  1 
O  wings  of  the  weary  dove ! 
Come,  for  I  know  you  now, 

Level 

THE  YOUTH.     \_Rising  and  coming  forward^ 
Yet  it  is  sad ;  but  ah,  once  on  a  night  — 
COR.     Leave  off  and  think  no  more  on  things  unreal, 
Think  of  the  morrow's  sun,  what  it  will  bring. 
THE  SINGER.     The  sun  has  sometimes  failed. 
COR.  But  not  to-morrow's  ! 

The  guides  have  sworn  by  cross  and  book  and  flame, 


EL  DORADO  89 

That  they  speak  truth. 

THE  YOUTH.  And  I  believe. 

THE  SINGER.  I  doubt. 

COR.    Good  ensign,  you  came  first ;  did  you  see  nothing  ? 

THE  YOUTH.     Night  had  already  fallen,  I  could  see 

Only  that  some  great  valley  lies  below  us, 

Whose  depths  seemed  fathomless  to  me  and  yet  — 

COR.     [Breathlessly^     And  —  What? 

THE  YOUTH.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  sigh  of  water 

Lifting  its  restless  bosom  from  some  bed  — 

[PERTH  has  paused  behind  the  group  and  is 
listening  eagerly.    CORONADO  springs  to  his 
feet.     They  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  each 
reading  the  other's  hope  or  belief* 
THE  SINGER.     [JRisingJ]     It  may  — 
COR.  It  must. 

PERTH.  The  River  I 

COR.  Eden  itself  1 

Ho !     Rouse  all  heads  at  once  ;  so  that  all  eyes 
May  look  and  see  now  what  all  hearts  have  longed  for. 
[The  SINGER  seizes  a  trumpet  and  blows  the 
awakening  call.     The  men   stir  and  rise 
sleepily. 

AN  OFFICER.     [Saluting.]     We  wait  your  bidding. 
COR.  Then  no  longer  wait. 

The  topmost  hour  of  each  of  your  high  fortunes 
Looms  on  your  sight.     Go,  and  prepare  for  lifel 
And  I,  myself,  will  furnish  my  commands. 
Leave  not  one  hope  undreamed ! 

[Exeunt  CORONADO  and  OFFICER  in  opposite 
directions. 


9o  EL  DORADO 

A  SOLDIER.     [Stumbling   to  his  feet.~\     Blast    me    all 

trumpets ! 

20  SOLD.     We're  waked  before  we  sleep. 
30  SOLD.  Why  were  we  waked? 

4TH  SOLD.     How  long  till  dawn  ? 
IST  SOLD.  A  quartern  hour. 

30  SOLD.  What  think  you, 

Does  Paradise  await  us  with  the  day? 
2D  SOLD.     It  lies  spread  out  below  like  a  great  feast, 
Which  Day  will  serve  us. 

30  SOLD.  What  shall  we  first  gather 

At  this  good  banquet? 
20  SOLD.  Gold. 

IST  SOLD.  What  next? 

4TH  SOLD.  Aye  Gold  ! 

30  SOLD.     For  me  a  plenished  paunch. 
20  SOLD.  If  there  be  maidens  — 

IST  SOLD.     Ah  1 

Enter  CORONADO. 
COR.  Form  and  march  to  break  the  night's 

encampment, 

Then  wait  until  I  come  to  lead  from  night 
To  day  ! 

[Exeunt  SOLDIERS.  CORONADO  then  turns  to 
PERTH  who  has  continued  to  stand  motion- 
less.] 

And  still  you  stand  as  though  unhearing. 
PERTH.     And  yet  I  hear. 
COR.  You  peer  into  the  air 

As  one  long  blind. 


EL  DORADO  91 

PERTH.  And  yet  I  see. 

COR.     \Turningfrom  him.~\  The  moments 

Seem  without  end  or  even  a  beginning. 

PERTH.     'Tis  now  the  last  deep  shudder  of  the  dark 

Before  it  dies. 

COR.  And  to  us  dies  forever ! 

We  will  stand  here,  we  two,  till  this  last  shadow 

That  thwarts  our  souls   from   hope    shall   pass  from 

earth. 

You  who  have  saved  me  for  this  hour  shall  share  it. 
Together  we  will  see  what  mortal  eyes 
Have  seen  not  since  they  first  gave  birth  to  tears. 
PERTH.     Upon  the  entrance  pathway  there  was  one 
Placed  with  a  flaming  sword  turned  every  way, 
Yet  we  have  passed  through  flame. 
COR.  And  mist. 

PERTH.  And  darkness. 

COR.     There  !    Was  that  not  an  arrow  of  light  that  rose 
Above  the  garden  ? 

PERTH.  'Twas  a  star  that  fell. 

It  bodes  — 

COR.  A  good  1     It  was  our  evil  star  1 

This  night  it  died  and  now  has  sunk  forever 
To  cindrous  night  in  the  remote  horizon ! 
PERTH.     And  now,  in  that  far  edge,  as  though  a  seed 
Were  sown,  there  is  a  hint  of  budding  grey, 
A  bud  not  wholly  innocent  of  night, 
And  yet  a  colour.     Earth  may  well  now  wait. 
COR.     But  see,  it  dies  ! 

PERTH.  Yet  now  it  blooms  again  ! 

Whiter  and  with  a  rumour  of  hidden  trumpets 


92  EL  DORADO 

One  lance  of  dawn  heralds  a  myriad  hues 

That  follow  it  I 

COR.  Now  they  begin  to  rise  ! 

There  are  the  ghosts  of  all  the  pearls  that  wait 

Our  gathering ! 

PERTH.  And  deep  and  faint  beneath  them 

Is  promise  of  that  reawakened  rose 

Which  quickens  in  the  blood  of  all  whose  lips 

Are  cooled  by  that  deep  cup  which  waits  our  own. 

COR.     There   are   the   imaged,   passionate   hearts   of 

rubies  1 

PERTH.     And  here  are  gems  all  quiet  with  deep  azure, 
Or  the  untroubled  cool  of  wakening  green  I 
COR.     Silver  1  And  amethyst !  O  rose-born  air ! 
The  colours  seem  like  music  or  sweet  odours ! 
There's  gold  1  At  last — in  all  these  months,  the  first  1 
Yonder  low  cloud  is  all  one  piece  of  it  I 
All  mirroring  the  bright  richness  of  the  dream 
Still  veiled  beneath  us.     Will  we  not  be  blind 
When  all  the  sudden  glory  breaks  upon  us 
Within  a  few  swift  breaths  ? 

[PERTH  is  standing  apart  unhearing.     CORO- 
NAVOsfiea&s  rather  to  himself  than  to  PERTH.] 

Her  eyes  alone 

Could  look  upon  it,  being  more  glorious. 
Her  eyes  1     O  have  my  own  been  even  so  briefly 
Dazzled  to  the  forgetting  of  the  prize 

By  the  poor  means  to  it  1 

Enter  an  OFFICER. 

OFFICER.  The  soldiers  beg 

To  be  led  down  at  once  into  the  vale. 


EL  DORADO  93 

COR.     No,  from  these   heights  they  first  must  look 

upon  it 

Lest  they  go  blind  and  mad  on  going  close 
With  unaccustomed  eyes.     Yes,  I  will  lead  them 
First,  here  and  swiftly  for  the  light  draws  near. 

[Exeunt  CORONADO  and  OFFICER. 
PERTH.     The  stars  leave  now  their  mighty  cavalcade 
Faster  and  faster,  each  to  its  own  rest. 
They  will  not  see  full  day  nor  the  day's  beauty, 
Yet  each  was  faithful  to  the  light  it  kept ; 
Holding  lone  vigil  without  hope  of  sight, 
Nor  aid  of  touch,  across  wide  space,  from  others. 
No  voice,  no  breath,  no  word  of  any  sound 
Came  to  one  watcher  from  another  one. 
And  yet  each  had  its  light,  and  having  light 
It  well  could  be  content  —  and  beyond  all 
Unto  them  now,  for  a  space,  is  given  rest. 
Unto  whom  else,  unto  what  other  thing  ? 

Enter  from  the  opposite  side  BEATRIX.  After  looking 
intently  toward  CORONADO  retreating,  then  furtively 
on  all  sides,  she  raises  her  visor. 

BEATRIX.     What  do  you  see  that  look'st  so  fixedly  ? 

PERTH.     Light ! 

BEAT.  And  what  more  ? 

PERTH.  Colours  I 

BEAT.  But  what  beside  ? 

PERTH.     Day  stirs  but  faintly  as  yet  beneath  the  dawn, 

I  cannot  see  what  dream  it  will  uncover. 

BEAT.     To  me  it  seems  all  mist. 

PERTH.  Do  you  see  nothing  ? 


94  EL  DORADO 

BEAT.     Nothing  with  open  eyes. 

PERTH.  Then  with  eyes  closed  ? 

BEAT.     Behind  shut  lids  they  seem  at  last  to  see 

Forelightnings  of  some  long-impending  storm. 

PERTH.     But  storms  banish  all  colours  from  the  sky  — 

BEAT.     Yet  leave  it  white. 

PERTH.  But  life  is  never  so. 

BEAT.     It  is  the  hue  of  Peace. 

PERTH.  Once  in  the  west 

You  pointed  to  this  hour  and  bade  me  see, 

And  sight  has  come  to  me  —  but  you  ?    For  you 

Where  is  hope  fled  ? 

[BEATRIX  moved  at  last  to  tell  him  her  secret. 
BEAT.  It  has  come  even  more  near : 

This  day  my  vows  will  end  and  be  fulfilled. 
PERTH.     Fulfilled  1 

BEAT.  At  last,  what  sudden  thing  has  thrilled 

Your  eyes  into  a  gaze  that  seems  like  blindness  ? 
PERTH.     [  With  the  hesitation  of  a  mighty  hopel\     To 

end  a  vow  is  to  be  freed  from  it. 
BEAT.     [Ingenuously^     And  I  am  free  from  all  past 

vows,  but  ever 

New  bonds  are  being  woven  that  enmesh  me 
Most  willing  prisoner. 
PERTH.  O  say  you  so, 

Seeing  the  fountain  has  not  yet  appeared? 
BEAT.     Why,  how  could  such  a  bubble  weigh  or  lighten 
My  dear  captivity  ? 

PERTH.  But  crushing  time 

Lifts  from  my  body  yet  not  one  dead  hour.     l 
BEAT.     Ah,  yes,  I  had  forgotten  even  the  things 


EL  DORADO  95 

That  others  seek,  in  dreaming  on  the  one 
Which  is  my  own  desire.     Yes,  for  you,  water  — 
PERTH.     [Still  blindly  mistaking  herl\    And  you  —  you 

search  — 

BEAT.  For  what,  I  pray,  has  thirst. 

For  I  bear  with  me  that  which  may  give  solace. 
PERTH.     [  Unsteadily. "\     You  have  told  this  to  me  — 

your  lips  have  framed  it  ? 
BEAT.     [  Gratefully  I\     Why    should   I    not — O    you, 

without  whose  aid 

There  would  be  now  no  framing  and  no  lips  ? 
PERTH.     [Stricken  with  infinite  joy.~]     Not  now.     \_He 

turns  half  from  her  with  an  effort '.]     Look  not  into 

my  face  lest  terror 

Enter  you  from  that  awe  which  lights  like  fire 
My  wintry  vision  —  a  little  longer  still 
I  will  withhold,  but  oh  !  not  for  myself, 
Only  until  the  other  cup  that  waits  me 
Shall  make  me  ready. 
BEAT.     \_Listless  and  wholly  uncomprehending.    With  her 

face  to  the  east.~\     Ah,  the  sweet,  near  wind ! 
[_She  turns  again  to  him.~\ 
I  cannot  fathom  what  your  words  may  mean ; 
But  you  will  find,  and  soon,  no  doubt,  the  end 
Of  all  your  yearning. 
PERTH.  It  is  ended  now. 

There  is  no  yearning  beyond  this  perfect  hour. 
BEAT.     I  do  not  know,  the  garden  still  is  veiled. 
Yet  you  do  well  to  hope. 
PERTH.  A  few  breaths  more 

And  we  shall  both  meet  all  hopes  face  to  face  — 


96  EL  DORADO 

BEAT.     And  so  possess  them  — 

PERTH.  All. 

BEAT.  Or  none. 

[The  noise  of  returning  troops  is  heard. 

PERTH.  The  men  1 

[BEATRIX   hastily   lowers    her    visor.     Enter 

CORONADO  leading  the  SOLDIERS.  BEATRIX 

passes  among  them  and  is  lost  to  view. 

CORONADO.     [To  SOLDIERS.]     Halt  there!    First  of  all 

mortal  things  my  eyes 
And  mine  alone  shall  be  immortal  I     Then 
You  too  may  look. 

\The  SOLDIERS  remain  on  the  side  of  the  slope. 
CORONADO  mounts  to  the  rock  on  which 
PERTH  stands  near  the  edge  of  the  bluff  and  a 
few  feet  higher  than  the  SOLDIERS'  position^ 
[  To  PERTH.]     Has  any  cloud  unfolded  ? 
PERTH.     'Tis  lighter. 

COR.  Yes,  the  garment  of  dead  night, 

Hiding  the  bosom  of  unknown  desire, 
Wavers  at  last  1 
PERTH.  And  lifts  I 

COR.  And  there  afar 

Towers  to  meet  the  dome  of  beckoning  day  I 
AN  OFFICER.     What  can  you  see  ? 
PERTH.  As  yet  only  bright  mist 

Dragging  its  radiant  length  along  the  east. 
COR.     Now  — 

PERTH.  Shadows  again. 

COR.  But  there  a  tendril  lifts 


EL  DORADO  97 

Higher  and,  with  a  message  of  white  hopes, 

Floats  toward  the  coming  sun  1 

PERTH.  And  there  a  wave 

Spires  to  that  last  slow-dying  star ! 

COR.  And  now 

With  sleep  and  all  old  dreams  and  visions  dead, 

Day  takes  all  heaven's  citadels ! 

PERTH.  Not  yet. 

Still  that  dark  robe  upon  the  waiting  Eden 

Clings  like  a  shroud. 

COR.  Hope  and  the  fruit  of  hope 

Are  one  in  this  great  hour ;  joy  needs  no  seizing, 

'Tis  ours  already  and  the  dream  of  it 

Is  its  own  end  —  Ah ! 

A  VOICE  [from  the  SOLDIERS.]  What  thing  now  is  shown  ? 

PERTH.     The  veil  seems  slowly  to  withdraw. 

COR.  I  see  it  1 

A  VOICE.     What  ? 

COR.     \To  PERTH.]     Look  —  far  down  I 

PERTH.  The  mist  seems  coloured  there. 

COR.     It  glows  !    It  is  no  mist !    Can  you  not  see 

The  gem  which  is  the  mother  of  all  dawn  ? 

PERTH.     There  is  some  gleam. 

COR.  It  waits  one  moment  yet 

Before  it  thunders  upon  our  blinded  sight ! 

[To  SOLDIERS.]     Choose  what  you  will,  O  you  whose 

blood  has  bought  it ! 

Out  of  all  that  which  waits  our  famished  eyes ! 
Bright,  barren  sands  of  gold,  which  shall  be  fertile. 
Jewels  that  welter  like  great  fallen  suns ! 
The  living  heat  that  smoulders  in  deep  rubies, 


98  EL  DORADO 

The  endless  April  of  cool  emeralds 

And  chrysoprase  within  whose  heart  the  sky 

Kisses  the  sea  !     The  sullen  mystery 

Of  opals   holding  captive  sunsets  past ! 

And  diamonds  fashioned  from  the  frozen  souls 

Of  lilies  once  alive  !     All  —  all  are  yours  1 

[The  SOLDIERS  have  been  murmuring  with  im 
patience  ever  since  their  last  entrance.  Their 
discontent  at  being  held  back  now  grows 
mutinous. 

A  SOLDIER.     [Starting  toward  PERTH  and  CORONADO.] 
I  will  not  wait. 

2D  SOLD.     [Following  him.~\     Nor  I. 
30  SOLD.     \_Going.~]  Here's  for  a  sight ! 

[All  the  SOLDIERS  start,  the  OFFICERS  trying 

to  hold  them  back. 
COR.     [Seeing  them.~\     Yes,  come  1     It  is  not  just  to 

starve  your  eyes 
Even  while  my  own  are  first  fed  and  made  strong. 

[The  SOLDIERS  reach  the  ledge  and  peer  down. 

There  is  a  pause. 
IST  SOLD.     \Wonderingly  I\     But  where  ? 

[During  the  last  speeches  of  CORONADO  his  face 
has  been  averted  from  the  valley  and  turned 
toward  the  SOLDIERS.  While  he  was  speak 
ing  the  final  flush  of  dawn  lightened  the 
whole  scene.  It  now  shows  the  valley  which 
appears  even  unusually  grey  and  desolate  in 
the  early  morning  light.  In  the  distance 
flows  the  great  muddy  river.  PERTH,  who 


EL  DORADO  99 

has  seen  all,  has  throughout  heard  nothing, 
but  has  remained  with  his  eyes  on  the  plain 
below  as  though  stricken  to  stone. 

20  SOLD.  What  jewels  ? 

3D  SOLD.  Is  there  anything  ? 

4TH  SOLD.     I  can  see  nothing. 

5TH  SOLD.  All  the  mist  is  gone. 

And  I  have  eyes ;  it  needs  more  skill  to  trick  them. 

20  SOLD.     A  trap  ! 

IST  SOLD.  A  foul  deceit ! 

4TH  SOLD.  Once  more  his  lies 

Have  bled  us. 

30  SOLD.  O  the  fool  —  the  hollow  fool 

1  was  to  be  so  lured  by  such  a  mouth ! 
PERTH.     Hold  !    Are  you  so  alone  in  suffering  ? 

If  you  so  think,  look  upon  him.  \Hepoints  to  CORONADO 
whose  eyes  are  set  on  the  scene  of  the  final  destruction 
of  his  hopes, ,] 

2  D  SOLD.     \Moved  to  some  pity  at  the  sight. ~\  Yes,  truly. 
PERTH.     He,  too,  has  been  misled  no  less  than  we. 
IST  SOLD.     Yet,  O  what  words  he  spoke  ! 

4/TH  SOLD.  With  what  clouds  lured  us  ! 

PERTH.     And  yet  himself  as  well. 

30  SOLD.  But,  O  the  blood, 

The  thorns  and  flints  upon  the  way ! 

20  SOLD.  And  hunger ! 

PERTH.      \_To  an  OFFICER.]    Go,  lead  them  back  again 

into  the  camp 

Until  we  plan  for  new  immediate  needs. 
OFFICER.     \To    SOLDIERS.]      About — and    march   to 

tents.     No  further  words. 


ioo  EL  DORADO 

[The  mutinous  threats  and  dissent  are  hushed  to 
murmurs.     Exeunt  all  save  PERTH  and 
CORONADO. 
COR.     No   further   sky  than   this  —  \He  takes  a  few 

sudden  steps  that  bring  him  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 
PERTH.     [Reaching  and  grasping  him.']     What  would 

you  do  ? 

COR.     No  hour  for  breath  —  only  to  go  —  to  go  1 
PERTH.     Where  ? 

COR.  Where  else  but  beyond  the  sight  of  it  ? 

PERTH.     Of  what  ? 

COR.  The  bane  called  Living !    The  foul  lie 

With  which  the  curse  called  time  lures  me  more  slowly 
To  each  hour's  death ! 

PERTH.     [After  a  pause. ~\     I,  too,  have  looked  on  life. 
COR.     Then  we  will  go  together,  being  at  last 
Made  wise. 
PERTH.     [Steadily. ~\     And  thus  far  I  have  seen  few 

things 

Undimmed  of  tears,  yet  surely  there  still  waits 
Some  hour  emptied  of  grief  for  each  of  us. 
COR.     I  have  already  sought  it  overlong. 
PERTH.     O  yet  an  instant,  see,  upon  the  plain 
Hope  whitens  again  into  a  shape  for  us  1 
COR.     [Looking  with  him.~\     What  is  it  ? 
PERTH.  From  this  place  it  seems  a  pool  1 

COR.     I  have  seen  many  such. 
PERTH.  But  see  I     The  sun 

Rains  its  pure  earliest  fire  upon  the  waves, 
As  though  to  make  more  plain  the  end  we  seek  I 
COR.     I  see  —  and  I  have  seen  —  too  much. 


EL  DORADO  101 

PERTH.  I  dream 

That  this  bright  image  of  awakening 

May  be  at  last  the  Water  of  all  Dreams  I 

COR.    Ah,  that  poor  phantom  Source  !  I  never  sought  it. 

I  have  found  the  thing  called  Youth  too  deadly  bitter 

To  grasp  at  further  tasting. 

PERTH.  But  men  say 

The  earth  upon  its  banks  is  essence  of  gold  1 

COR.     Men  say  — 

PERTH.  If  it  prove  gold  will  you  not  live  ? 

COR.     Men  say  — 

PERTH.  Bide  here,  I  will  descend  the  rock 

And  seize  and  bring  back  Life  with  eager  hands, 

Life  for  your  own  hands  and  your  yearning  lips 

And  for  your  eyes.     Sands  I  will  bring  to  you, 

Whose  tawny  grains  outglow  the  water  itself ! 

Stand,  and  with  eyes  held  fast  upon  the  pool 

Know  that  with  my  return  all  griefs  are  ended  I 

\He  starts  to  descend  at  a  place  where  the  de 
clivity  is  less  steep,  and  is  slowly  lost  to 
view.  CORONADO  stands  seemingly  neither 
hearing  nor  seeing  for  a  time.  Then  sud 
denly  seems  to  waken. 

COR.     Thus  far  —  and  then  —  an  end  —  and  this  — 
at  last 

The  ending.     Colours  1    Mist !    The  blank  of  sky  1 

Nothing  beyond  —  nothing  behind  the  colours  1 

The  sky  thwarts  all.     There  is  no  need  to  strive 

Further  to  look  on  mist  of  other  shapes. 

Each  hour  the  mocking  barrier  grows  more  dense ; 

So  to  break  through  — 


102  EL  DORADO 

[He  begins  to  lift  himself  to  a  rock  that  pro 
jects  over  the  gulf.] 

And  baffle  it  at  last. 
So  to  break  through  — 

[He  is  poising  for  the  leap  when,  from  behind 
a  near  rock,  BEATRIX  rushes  forward  and 
drags  him  a  few  steps  backward.  Her  face 
is  still  masked  by  the  steel. ~\ 

What  thing  is  this  that  clutches  ? 
One  of  the  race  of  men !    Why,  so  am  I ! 
Poor  race  —  but  being  of  it  you  shall  follow  — 
Head! 

\_He  grasps  and  tries  to  draw  her  with  him  to 
the  edge.  She  struggles  powerfully  to  hold 
him  back.~\ 

But  what  1  So  strong !  And  will  not  come  ! 
Then  with  all  strength  and  will  lying  cold,  you  shall ! 

[He  swiftly  draws  his  sword  and  dashes  toward 
her.  She  avoids  his  first  stroke,  but  he 
pushes  her  so  fiercely  that  she  is  brought  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  precipice.  As  he  is 
about  to  force  her  over,  she  lifts  in  despera 
tion  the  visor.  His  sword  drops  from  his 
hand.  He  gazes  at  her  as  one  in  deep  sleep. 
He  passes  his  hand  across  his  face  as  though 
to  dispel  a  vision,  then  again  looks  and  after 
a  pause  he  speaks. ~\ 

O  Pale  1    Whiter  than  ever  in  the  night ! 

Never  the  moon  nor  any  drifting  star 

Brought  you  so  hallowed  and  white,  yet  real  to  me. 


EL  DORADO  103 

—  Why  did  no  daytime  dawn  or  noon  before 

Bring  you  ?    For  oh,  the  day  brought  many  dreams ! 

BEAT.     Am  I  so  faintly  seen  as  dreams  ? 

COR.  You  speak  1 

BEAT.     And  have  I  not  been  given  lips  for  speech  ? 

Or  shall  they  be  forever  hushed,  laid  softly 

Upon  your  own  ? 

COR.  Even  the  braver  voice  ! 

And  not  like  that  which  wailed  out  of  the  dark 

For  comforting  1 

BEAT.  I  have  not  sought  for  comfort ; 

Only  to  aid  you. 

COR.  O  speak,  breathe  and  tell 

While  I  may  see  and  hear !    You  soon  will  pass 

And  the  frail  web  of  you  rejoin  the  air 

And  I  be  left. 

BEAT.  Yes,  I  will  pass,  and  briefly. 

Therefore,  O  Love,  shall  we  not  cling,  this  moment  ? 

Strike  it  like  fire  from  out  the  dark  of  time, 

That  when  time  glooms  again  we  may  remember  ? 

\_He  starts  instinctively  toward  her,  but  after  a 

few  steps  he  pauses. 

COR.     No,  I  will  no  more  strive  to  anything 
And  so  dispel  it. 

BEAT.  Then,  if  not  yet  vanished, 

I,  the  last  phantom,  must  dissolve  myself, 
For  we'll  endure  no  wraiths.     If  sense  of  sight 
Nor  hearing  lifts  the  veil  from  off  your  soul  — 
Then  may  —  some  touch  — 

\_She  lifts  her  helmet  from  her  head  and  casts 
it  upon    the  ground,  letting  her  hair  fall 


104  EL  DORADO 

about  her.  She  goes  slowly  to  him.  She 
reaches  to  him.  His  eyes  yearn  to  her,  but 
he  shrinks  back  waiting  to  see  her  vanish. 

COR.  May  not  one  thing  of  all 

Remain  ? 

BEAT.        Yes  —  [She  kisses  him. 

COR.  O  God,  if  another  hour 

Than  this  awaits  me,  let  it  hold  no  longer, 
But  let  the  perishing  dream  draw  forth  my  breath ! 
BEAT.     Am  I  still  no  more  real  than  visionings  ? 
Ah,  will  not  even  your  blood  awake  your  soul  ? 
Have  the  snow-textured  arms  of  dreams  these  pulses  ? 
Has  the  pale  spirit  of  sleep  a  mouth  like  this  ? 
COR.     You  do  not  fade  into  cold,  futile  mist  ? 
BEAT.     Ah  no,  and  yet  what  better  time  to  pass 
Than  standing  so ;  unknown,  ungreeted,  feared 
By  those  same  eyes  to  which  my  own  have  lifted 
Through  circling  months  of  shifting  frost  and  fire ; 
So  weary  long ;  so  many  desolate  leagues  ? 

\_He  touches  her  face. 

COR.     O  —  I  believe  —  witness,  dear  God  —  my  faith 

That  this,  of  truth,  —  is  she  —  in  very  flesh ! 

And  for  my  mighty  faith  take  her  not  from  me. 

BEAT.     Francis  — 

COR.  O  deathless  Bice  !    Here  in  Eden, 

As  once  the  dark  song-mouth  of  lighted  gloom 

Greeted  you,  so  even  1 1 

BEAT.  Yet  even  now 

You  would  have  fled  from  Eden,  seeing  none. 

COR.     For  you  were  not  within  it. 


EL  DORADO  105 

BEAT.  Yes,  of  truth, 

I  was  not  in  these  arms,  for  they  are  Eden. 

COR.     Within  your  breast,  the  Land  of  Sorrow's  End, 

Is  all  my  Paradise. 

BEAT.  Beyond  the  sky 

You  would  have  hurled  yourself  had  I  not  clasped  you. 

COR.     Your  eyes  are  now  my  sky  and  all  beyond  them 

Are  the  great  deeps  of  you :  so  if  I  pass 

These  lucent  boundaries  I  seek  no  more 

Than  you  —  than  you. 

BEAT.  And  now,  shall  I  die  swiftly, 

Or  with  joy  lingering  ? 

COR.  O  Sweet ! 

BEAT.  Your  vow 

To  slay  me  if  I  followed ! 

COR.  Look  no  more 

After  us  but  before.     There  is  no  death 

For  us  in  anything  —  in  any  world. 

BEAT.     Yet  part  of  me  is  dead:  my  griefs.     This  hour 

Is  the  dear  shroud  in  which  they  have  been  laid ; 

To  all  my  sighs  your  lips  give  burial ; 

Your  eyes  are  the  last  grave  of  all  my  tears. 

COR.     O  breathe  no  more  of  things  now  dead,  but  cling 

And  let  the  music  of  the  touch  of  you 

Enfold  me  with  all  singing,  living  things. 

BEAT.     I  am  stirred  to  call  unto  the  whole  glad  earth : 

"  Behold,  this  hour  your  gladness  taken  from  you !  " 

For  it  is  ours !     Shall  we  not  always  be 

Here  in  the  world  of  morning  and  bright  dew  ? 

COR.     We  have  known  no  hour  but  this,  nor  ever  shall. 

BEAT.     Forever  to  stand  thus  with  dawn-blown  hair ! 


io6  EL  DORADO 

COR.     And  count  the  years  by  new  caresses  learned ! 
BEAT.     Always  to  conquer  Time  with  one  last  kiss ! 
COR.     A  dimness  seems  to  close  upon  your  face  1 
BEAT.     The  way  was  long — so  long — I  have  wandered 

far. 

COR.     O  Heavy  Eyes,  forgive  Love's  heedless  heart ; 
Unthinking  Love  that  knows  no  weariness ; 
Wild  Love,  barren  of  tender  services ! 
How  shall  I  make  you  rest  upon  these  rocks  ? 
BEAT.     Take  no  more  care  for  anything  save  Love. 

[She  turns  to  the  direction  from  which  she  en 
tered^ 
[  Calling."}     Felisa  I    Juana ! 

Enter  her  two  Indian  WOMEN. 

Even  upon  these  stones 
The  bending  sisterhood  of  women  flowers. 
They  guard  me  carefully. 

COR.  Rest  then,  Tired  Heart, 

Below,  veiling  your  face  again  awhile 
Until  the  women  shield  you  from  all  men's  eyes. 

[He  helps  her  to  don  the  head-piece. 
BEAT.     You  come  ? 

I  follow  soon  with  Life  —  to  Life  ! 
[Exeunt  BEATRIX  and  WOMEN.     CORONADO 

turns  his  eyes  to  the  east. 
COR.     O  sky  that  has  been  tender  unto  her 
Let  me  be  nearer  to  your  softnesses ! 

[He   runs   to   the   rock  from  which  he  was 
formerly  about  to  spring.     As  he  stands 


EL  DORADO  107 

triumphantly  upon  it  PERTH  appears  above 
the  edge  climbing  slowly  with  his  eyes  fixed 
agonizedly  upon  CORONADO.  As  he  comes, 
he  speaks. 

PERTH.     Yet  you  have  youth  and  morning  and  bright 
air 

Which  are  the  foods  of  Hope ;  all  these  are  yours ! 

Will  you  not  stay  for  them  ? 

COR.      [Dreamily  stretching  out  his  hand  to  the  eastl\ 

Broad,  gentle  sky ! 

PERTH.     An  instant  still,  stand  fast !  I  have  one  word, 

At  last  —  a  name  to  breathe  into  your  soul ! 

COR.      \Turning  and  seeing  him  for  the  first  timel\ 

Why  are  your  eyes  so  blanched,  your  words  so  breath 
less? 

PERTH.     Draw  back  one  pace,  one  moment  till  I  speak ! 

COR.     Ah,  I  remember  now.     You  went  to  seek  — 

And  found  ?   \_He  reads  PERTH'S  eyes.~\    Nothing.    And 
I  —  it  came  to  me  ! 

PERTH.     What  came  ? 

COR.  The  sky !  The  sun !  The  mighty  morning ! 

All  things  that  I  possessed  before  yet  knew  not. 

PERTH.     And  you  will  live  ? 

COR.  Is  there  another  thing 

Than  life  ? 

PERTH.     What  new-fledged  day  is  this  within  you 

That  makes  your  every  breath  rise  with  mad  wings  ? 

Have  you  found  gold  ? 

COR.  Yes,  gold  more  dear 

Than  the  good  earth  or  the  sky's  gilded  blue, 

Or  sea-caves  carven  of  peace  have  ever  yielded  1 


io8  EL  DORADO 

PERTH.     Where  ? 

COR.  It  is  stored  here.     [He  points  to  his 

breastl\ 

Here,  beyond  all  sight 
Save  mine ! 

PERTH.          And  so  at  last  you  know  — 
COR.  Know?    What? 

PERTH.     The  gold  that  thrills  within  your  veins,  the 

treasure 

Unstolen  by  the  furtive  creeping  years. 
COR.     That  youth  of  which  you  dream  ?    Yes,  I  possess 

it. 

PERTH.     But  I  did  not  find  it  there  upon  the  plain, 
Neither  the  golden  earth. 
COR.  Then  turn  with  me 

From  dreams  and  fix  your  wakened  eyes  on  day ! 

[The  murmur  of  angry  voices  has  been  heard 
and  grows  louder  and  louder.     Enter  run 
ning,  the  SOLDIERS,  mutinous,  the  OFFICERS 
in  front  of  them  trying  to  hold  them  back. 
AN  OFFICER.     [To  CORONADO.]    The  men,  being  mad 

with  desperate  bafflement  — 
I  cannot  hold  them  back —  beg  that  you  turn 
And  pierce  no  more  into  the  unknown  east, 
But  only  home. 

COR.  And  all  their  prayers  are  granted. 

No  more  the  dawns,  but  only  sunset  colours 
Shall  light  our  faces ;  yet,  O,  in  our  hearts 
We  bring  back  morning.     On  this  day  we  start  1 
This  hour !     At  once  1     [To  PERTH.]     Good  soldier, 

you  will  go 


EL  DORADO  109 

Forward  as  a  messenger  to  find  a  path. 
At  Tiquex,  join  Ubeda  and  then  —  on  ! 
Take  ten  men  with  you.  Ho,  for  ten  to  go ! 

[Ten  SOLDIERS  step  forward.] 

You  have  them. 

PERTH.  But  to-day  — 

COR.  Stay  not  one  hour! 

PERTH.     Until  the  night — 

AN  OFFICER.  If  he  will  not,  then  I. 

COR.  [To  PERTH.]  Will  you  now  fail,  who  have  been 
so  long  to  me 

My  only  trusted  heart  and  strength  ? 

PERTH.  I  go. 

COR.     Good  1     Let  the  following  quarter  of  this  hour 

Look  on  some  path  already  hewn  for  us 

By  that  good  sword  worn  by  my  braver  part, 

My  friend.  Farewell.  Why  do  your  eyes  turn  back 
ward? 

PERTH.     Only  to  look  again  — 

COR.  On  what  ? 

PERTH.  The  Dawn. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  V 


SCENE  i.  —  Three  months  later.  The  summit  of  Taaai- 
yalana,  or  Thunder  Mountain,  three  miles  southeast 
from  Zuni,  in  northern  New  Mexico.  It  is  a  great 
mesa  of  rock  rising  in  sheer  walls  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  desert.  It  is  only  accessible  on  the  northeastern 
side,  where  there  is  a  narrow  and  tortuous  trail. 

Up  stage  the  view  is  partly  thwarted  by  the  wall  of 
an  old  ruin,  built  of  unhewn  stones.  Past  it,  in  the 
background,  not  far  distant,  is  seen  the  brink  of  the 
precipice,  and  beyond  that  a  hundred  miles  of  the  plain. 
Over  all  is  the  yellow  molten  light  of  the  sun  that  has 
laid  it  waste. — In  front  of  the  wall  and  sitting  against 
it  is  a  SOLDIER.  His  head  hangs  weakly  forward 
and  he  clutches  an  empty  water-bottle  to  his  breast. 
Enter  another  SOLDIER  who  appears  to  be  in  the  same 
enfeebled  condition.  He  totters  across  the  stage  mutter 
ing  to  himself  and  finally  espies  the  other.  He  glares 
for  an  instant  at  him,  then  hurls  himself  upon  him  and 
wrests  the  bottle  away.  He  puts  it  to  his  mouth  and 
turns  it  upside  down,  squeezing  and  pressing  it,  the 
other,  meanwhile,  making  feeble  efforts  to  rise. 

SOLDIER.     [Finally  taking  the  bottle  from  his  mouthl\ 

Dry! 

20  SOLD.     [  Weakly  reaching  for  it.~\     Give  it  back. 
"3 


n4  EL  DORADO 

IST  SOLD.    All  gone!  Do  you  hear?  There's  nothing  left. 

2D  SOLD.     [Still  more  feebly. ~\     Give  it  back. 

[  The  first  SOLDIER  gives  it  to  him  slowly,  in 
tently  watching  him  meanwhile,  to  see  if 
the  other  has  means  of  extracting  anything 
from  it,  but  he  only  clasps  it  again  eagerly 
to  his  breast. 

IST  SOLD.  [Suddenly  half  turning  and  putting  his  hand 
to  his  head.~\  O  the  sun  1  O  Christ !  They've  pulled 
off  the  eyelid  of  the  sun  and  it  can't  close  its  eye ! 
It  stares  and  stares,  dripping  blood,  and  it  bores  deep 
down  into  my  head !  The  cinders  fall  into  my  mouth 
and  choke  me !  [He  falls  on  his  knees  beside  the 
other.]  What  do  you  think  the  sun's  made  of  ?  [He 
waits,  but  the  other  seems  not  to  hear.~\  Fire  ?  [The 
other  does  not  raise  his  head.~\  [Musingly  I\  No,  not 
fire,  for  whenever  it  set  in  the  sea,  'twould  make  it 
boil  up  over  the  land  and  then  everything  could 
drink.  Drink !  Do  you  hear  ?  We  could  drink !  We, 
here  in  hell,  a  thousand  leagues  away  from  the  sea ! 
The  cold  green  would  come  to  us  softly,  softly  lap 
ping,  lapping,  —  till  it  comes  so  near  it  can't  get 
away  again  and  then  we  will  churn  into  its  soft,  smooth 
breast,  like  a  stab  wound,  for  not  coming  sooner  to 
us,  and  then  we  will  sink  down  and  down  and  it  will 
struggle  and  try  to  fade,  as  it  did  this  morning,  in 
the  air,  but  it  can't  throttle  us !  It  can't  throttle  us  ! 
Not  till  we've  sucked  it  dry  and  got  it  in  our  blood 
and  then  we'll  let  go  and  then  the  blood  will  float, 
float  far  down  and  away  with  the  other  waves,  but 
cooled,  cooled,  cooled.  —  See  there  I  —  Now  'tis  gone 


EL  DORADO  115 

—  look  away  —  the  sea's  gone  !  All  gone  !  Only  a 
few  fish  left  stranded  on  a  rock  up  near  the  sun. 
Poor  fish,  poor  fish  ! 

2D  SOLD.  '  [Stirring,  as  in  dream. ~\     The  sea ! 

IST  SOLD.  The  sea  is  brine,  we  could  never  drink  salt 
water.  'T  has  blood  in't. 

20  SOLD.     Water  1 

IST  SOLD.  I've  had  good  drinks  in  my  time.  Long, 
cool  pulls  at  many  and  many  a  flask.  I've  seen 
whole  skies  of  milk ;  but  too  high,  too  high !  No  way 
to  reach  them  but  to  climb  rocks,  always  getting  a 
little  nearer  the  sun,  and  then  it  sets  and  the  west 
looks  like  blood,  but  no,  it's  wine,  red  wine,  with  snow 
in't  to  drink !  Aye,  that's  the  word :  drink  and  drink 
and  suck  up. 

20  SOLD.     \_In  delirium}     Little  Blandina  — 

IST  SOLD.  O  the  sun  !  It's  falling !  It  gets  nearer  and 
nearer  1  We  climbed  to  it  and  now  it's  coming  to 
meet  us.  The  sun  can't  abide  any  wings  save  his 
own.  He  scorches  all  who  fly  at  him.  [His  eyes 
again  fall  o?t  the  bottle  which  the  other  holds.  He 
again  takes  it.  The  prostrate  figure  makes  no  further 
resistance.}  Yet  this  bottle  had  water  in't  once. 
Change,  change,  all  things  must  come  to  it.  Once 
it  was  wet,  now  it  is  dry,  —  dry  as  my  tongue  —  my 
tongue  is  part  of  the  leathern  bottle.  \He  rubs  it 
against  his  mouth,  then  suddenly  starts  to  his  feet, 
wildly}  Ha,  I  know  now  !  The  bottle  is  damned  ! 
It  held  blood  !  The  Fiend  made  it  out  of  the  tongues 
of  men  turned  to  leather  for  want  of  water.  \_He 
dashes  it  from 


n6  EL  DORADO 

2D  SOLD.     Water  — 

Enter  from  behind  the  wall  PERTH  and  UBEDA.  Both 
are  haggard  and  emaciated,  but  PERTH  in  a  much 
greater  degree  than  the  FRIAR.  The  SOLDIERS  stagger 
mechanically  and  weakly  to  their  feet  and  salute,  lean 
ing  against  the  wall.  UBEDA  motions  them  to  depart. 
Exeunt  SOLDIERS.  —  PERTH  totters  in  his  walk  and 
leans  heavily  upon  UBEDA,  whose  arm  steadies  him. 
PERTH.  And  on  its  banks  grow  flowers  of  all  past 

Springs ; 

The  fadeless  presences  of  blossoms  dead, 
And  among  these  I'll  kneel,  being,  like  them, 
A  memory.     They,  with  soft-petaled  breath, 
Will  keep  me  company  until  I  drink,  — 
Until  I  drink  —  and  then  —  what  then  ?     Ah  yes, 
Youth  will  return.     And  she  —  her  face  will  seem 
To  lean  with  mine  from  out  the  water's  depths  — 
Close,  touching  mine,  cooled  by  her  hair,  so  mirrored 
From  out  the  burnished  surface  of  the  pool, 
And  then  —  then  I  will  turn,  being  young,  and  she 
Who  has  shown  me  all  things  else  desirable 
In  waking  worlds  or  dreams,  will  show  me  —  peace. 
UBEDA.     O  God,  let  him  not  wake  1 
PERTH.  And  day  by  day 

Peace  and  her  shadowing  hair,  and  night  by  night 
Rest  and  her  eyes  to  illumine  all  the  shadows. 
Enter  a  SOLDIER  followed  by  an  Indian  RUNNER,  who 
leans  exhausted  against  the  wall.     The  SOLDIER  steps 
forward  at  attention. 
UBEDA.     \To  SOLDIER.]     Tell  on. 
SOLDIER.       Those  who  were  sent  to  bring  up  water  — 


EL  DORADO  117 

UBEDA.     They  put  to  death  ? 

SOLD.  No,  but  with  arrows  and  stones 

They  broke  the  pots  and  sent  the  bearers  to  us 
With  empty  hands  and  swollen  tongues  like  ours. 
PERTH.     What  news  was  told  us  then  ? 
UBEDA.  The  siege  still  holds. 

PERTH.     What  day  is  this  ? 

UBEDA.  The  fifth  without  water, 

The  thirtieth  since  we  paused  to  wait  Don  Francis. 
PERTH.     Then  we  will  journey  southward  once  again. 
No  doubt  some  other  path  has  led  them  home. 
They  will  not  find  us  here,  there  is  no  need 
To  linger.     We  will  go. 
UBEDA.  Yes,  we  will  go, 

And  soon,  but  in  no  flesh  of  mortal  texture. 
PERTH.      \_Snddenly  lifting  his  head  and  gazing   into 
UBEDA 's  face  with  the  momentary  divination  of 'fear •.] 
Ha,  you  have  fear  !    Of  what  —  in  all  the  world  ? 
Has't  form,  or  is  it  bodiless?  —  what  thing 
In  all  this  world  is  left  for  us  to  fear  ? 
UBEDA.     It  has  the  form  of  wild,  blood-coloured  men 
Gathered  from  every  corner  of  the  desert 
About  the  steep  foundations  of  this  rock 
To  wait  the  end. 

PERTH.  Then,  now  is  the  beginning. 

\To  SOLDIER.]      Summon  the  men. 

[Exit  SOLDIER. 

UBEDA.  What  would  you  do  ? 

PERTH.  At  last 

We  turn  upon  the  course  that  leads  our  feet 
Where  all  our  lives,  our  lips  alone  have  wandered. 


n8  EL  DORADO 

UBEDA.     You  will  descend  ? 

PERTH.  Yes,  while  there  is  a  tongue 

To  say  "  I  will." 

UBEDA.  Then  'twill  not  be  for  long ; 

Our  feebled  blood  will  hardly  stain  the  sand 

Before  the  hearts  that  give  it  cease  from  leaping, 

If  we  give  battle  now  1 

PERTH.      \_Looking  at  him  with  great  and  questioning 

wonder.~\  Yet  you  are  brave. 

How  can  it  be  you  plead  so  timorously  ? 
You,  whose  breast  is  hearted  like  a  lion, 
To  play  this  rosary  and  cassock  part ! 
Are  there  not  winds  enough  up  here  in  heaven 
To  blow  the  smoke  of  altars  from  your  eyes  ? 

\The  SOLDIERS,  nine  of  them,  file  in  slowly  and 
weakly  take  their  stand  waveringly  at  atten 
tion^ 

Here,  look  on  men  and  know  yourself  for  one. 

Men  1     We  are  more  !     Ha,  rather  are  we  gods  1 

No  mortal  could  endure  this  infinite  height  1 

Our  feet  alone  touch  earth,  our  heads  are  shrouded 

Here  in  this  firmament  of  upper  fire 

Beyond  men's  sight !     What  aspirant  sun  is  this 

Crept  in  our  sky  as  though  'twould  mount  to  us  ? 

Let  us  brook  never  an  orb  but  our  own  eyes ! 

Is  there  a  soul  here  fears  thus  to  become 

A  shatterer  of  this  blind,  sneering  roof 

That  bent  so  long  above  us  ?     Stand  more  bravely, 

And  let  not  this  one  moan  and  that  one  sink ! 

Will  not  the  strength  that  raised  us  here  avail 


EL  DORADO  119 

Against  the  poor  dust-motes  that  haunt  the  base 
Of  this  long-kindled  pyre  ? 

\A  slight  noise  and  commotion  back  of  the  line 
of  SOLDIERS  is  heard,  and  a  native  Zuni 
RUNNER  enters  and  staggers  and  falls 
breathless  among  them,  holding  up  a  letter. 

AN  OFFICER.      [Following  the  RUNNER.]    A  messenger. 

PERTH.     From  whom? 

OFF.  The  native  runners  to  the  Viceroy. 

PERTH.     Break  the  seal  and  read. 

OFF.     [Opening  the  letter  and  reading^ 

—  The  Viceroy,  having  learned  — 

That  all  the  promises  have  come  to  naught, — 

That  all  the  dreams  of  Eden  fade  to  ashes  — 

That  all  the  rumours  of  gold  have  turned  to  clay, — 

That  all  the  end  of  hoping  is  disaster, — 

That  all  those  lies  and  all  the  prayers  which  caused  — 

The  outlay  that  impoverished  Mexico, — 

Have  wrought  not  one  return,  —  gives  these  commands: 

—  The  leader,  Coronado,  shall  return  — 
Stript  of  his  honour  till  he  can  account  — 
Unto  his  sovereign  for  his  great  failure. — 
The  other  officers  and  common  rank  — 
Will  also  come. — 

A  SOLDIER.  Huzza ! 

OFF.     [Continuing  to  read.~]     But  in  disgrace. 

SOLD.     Ah ! 

2D  SOLD.     What  is  that  ? 

30  SOLD.  Disgrace  ? 

4TH  SOLD.  Some  penalty. 


izo  EL  DORADO 

2D  SOLD.     And  does  it  scorch  men? 

IST  SOLD.  No. 

4TH  SOLD.  Nor  dry  their  mouths  ? 

30  SOLD.     No. 

20  SOLD.  Then  who  cares,  so  we  go  back  again  ? 

OFF.     Hold,  there  is  more  !     [Reading^ 

—  All  men  once  prisoners  — 
Held  by  the  Crown  shall,  on  receipt  of  this  — 
Take  warning  never  to  return  to  us.  — 
Let  them  remain  where  this  command  shall  find  them. 
[PERTH  reels  and  sinks  to  a  sitting  posture  on  a 
stone  behind  him.    The  PRIEST  bends  over 
him. 
IST  SOLD.     Well,  as  for  that,  those  who  must  heed  it, 

may; 

For  never  a  cage  held  me  but  dinted  armour. 
THE  OTHER  SOLD.     Nor  me  !    Nor  me  ! 
PERTH.     \_Rising  slowly  with  UBEDA'S  assistance^ 

Is  there  no  man  among  you 
Who  has  been  imprisoned  ? 

\_He  waits.     The  SOLDIERS  look  questioningly , 
each  mutely  denying  captivityl\ 

None  ?     Then  you  will  go. 
Let  each  man  say  farewell  to  me,  and  then  — 

[UBEDA  sees  that  he  is  on  the  point  of  letting 
the  SOLDIERS  know  of  his  incarceration  and 
interrupts. 
UBEDA.     O  peace !     Why  should  the  silence  now  be 

broken  ? 

IST  SOLD.      \Half  comprehending  PERTH'S  meaning^ 
What !     He  would  stay  ? 


EL  DORADO  121 

2D  SOLD.  And  why? 

UBEDA.  He  will  not  stay. 

See,  they  are  true  to  you ;  their  rugged  spirits 

Are  knit  to  you  with  never-wavering  faith. 

A  SOLD.     Where  would  we  go  without  his  heart  and 

sword  ? 

20  SOLD.     Not  far  alive,  that's  certain. 
30  SOLD.  No,  nor  dead. 

PERTH.     You  still  would  follow  me  ? 
ALL.  Who  else  ?     Who  else  ? 

PERTH.     Then  while  life  bides  with  us  you  shall  be  led 
And  led  to  gaze  on  very  Life  itself ! 
Gaze  on  it  ?     Yes,  and  drink  it  until  Eden 
Is  echoed  to  your  eyes  from  each  cup's  depth  I 
You  choose  well  who  thus  choose  to  be  immortal. 
The  calm  has  lifted.     Gird  yourselves  at  once 
With  outward  and  inner  steel.     We  start  this  hour 
To  intercept  Don  Coronado's  legion. 
OFF.     Where  ? 

PERTH.  South  of  that  same  path  that  led  us  here 

Ere  they  return. 
A  SOLD.      \_Ominously  sullen.~\     That's  only  south  of 

east? 

PERTH.     Yes. 
20  SOLD.     \Openly  rebellious.'}     We  have  done  with 

east. 

30  SOLD.  No  east  for  me. 

4TH  SOLD.     We  did  not  fight  our  way  thus  far  toward 

home 

To  be  coaxed  back  again  to  watch  the  sunrise. 
OFF.     Forgive  them. 


122  EL  DORADO 

ALL.     Anywhere  but  back  again  ! 

PERTH.     Forgive !     I  cherish  in  my  heart  no  blame 

Toward  you.     Neither  blame  nor  faint  surprise. 

All  are  brave  men,  but  merely  blind  or  deaf 

To  what  a  prize  awaits.     I  —  I  alone 

Know,  and  so  alone  I  must  go  and  win  it. 

Farewell. 

OFF.     Must  it  be  so  ? 

UBEDA.     \To  OFFICER.]       Let  all  withdraw. 

[Exeunt  SOLDIERS. 

PERTH.     And  between  you  and  me,  then,  'tis  farewell. 
UBEDA.     What  would  you  do  ? 

PERTH.  Clutch  at  the  one  last  hope, 

The  hope  to  reach  her  ere  the  march  has  passed 
Across  the  boundaries  that  would  bar  my  soul 
From  —  what  ?  Either  heaven  or  hell.  And,  O  I  shall — 
I  shall  reach  to  her  from  the  depth  of  doom, 
Stretch  out  my  hands  toward  the  one  dim  spark 
Of  yielding  in  her  eyes  until  it  warms 
Into  a  sun  that  shall  go  choiring,  choiring 
Through  all  her  being's  utmost  deeps,  the  hymn 
That  rapts  all  space  with  morning !     Well  I  know 
That  on  both  sides  of  this  new  path  to  her, 
Death  stands,  lynx-eyed  for  any  wavering  steps, 
But  'tis  a  futile  watching ;  in  the  end, 
I,  whom  she  waits,  shall  find  her  once  again. 
UBEDA.     And  then  ? 

PERTH.     Ah,  then  !     When  that  great  dawn  of  her 
Shall  wash  against  my  vision  with  the  tide 
Of  its  full  joy  — 
UBEDA.  Then? 


EL  DORADO  123 

PERTH.  'Tis  enough  ;  what  more  ? 

What  mightier  hour  could  Time  withhold  from  me  ? 

UBEDA.     But  afterward  ? 

PERTH.  Ah,  she  will  go  with  me 

Home! 

UBEDA.     And  what  home  ? 

PERTH.  Is  this  not  solid  earth  ? 

Will  not  this  land  bear  two  upon  its  breast, 

Though  they  are  charged  with  earth's  whole  weight  of 

joy? 

Here  shall  we  bide,  for  'twill  be  home  for  us! 
Far  in  the  East  a  land  of  cooler  lights 
Dreams  between  Spring  and  Spring  beneath  no  touch 
Save  rain  and  leaves  or  snow  and  falling  flowers, 
Yet  it  is  this  same  land ;  lo,  half  the  world 
Has  lain  here  till  this  hour,  stainless,  asleep, 
And  up  from  the  old,  blood-choked,  semi-orb 
That  mothered  us,  shall  come  the  wandering  tread 
Of  those  who  seek  for  home,  —  here  they  shall  find  it  I 
All  the  old  grief  that  utters  yet  no  sound 
Through  all  the  hours  of  all  the  throne-galled  night, 
Shall  here  find  clarion  ;  the  sound  of  tears 
Falling,  and  innocent  blood  far  bitterer 
Shall  here  be  quenched ;  here  shall  no  sound  nor  sight 
Be  born  of  all  those  phantoms  in  that  dream ; 
Monarchs  in  rotten  purple,  leprous  crowns, 
Wounds  without  cause  and  unjust  bonds  and  prison ! 
Aye,  those  !     The  hopeless  gnawing  steel  and  stone, 
More  heavy  than  a  myriad  bodily  deaths ! 
Here  they  shall  die  and  pass  from  earth  and  fade. 
This  is  the  garden  we  shall  walk  within. 


I24 


EL  DORADO 


She,  whose  calm  eyes  would  have  been  brave  enough 
To  live  through  all  the  deserts  of  the  world, 
Will  here  have  flowers,  and  I  will  have  no  less 
The  perfect  bloom  — 

\_Faint  cries  and  shouting  are  heard.] 

What  sudden  sound  of  joy 
Floats  to  my  ears  ?     Has  earth  been  listening 
To  hear  of  happiness  ? 

\_More  voices  raised  in  faint  cheers  are  heard, 
together  with  the  sound  of  armed  men  run 
ning.  Enter,  running  weakly,  a  SOLDIER. 
He  is  too  exhausted  and  excited  to  speak  at 
first. 

UBEDA.     \_To  the  SOLDIER.]     What  news  have  you  ? 
SOLD.     [Deliriously  joyous.']  O  Blessed  James  !  Patron 

of  Thirsty  Lips, 
My  vows  shall  be  fulfilled ! 

UBEDA.  Peace  1  Peace !  The  news  ? 

\_Enter  another  SOI.VYE.K  followed  by  several,  all 

running  unsteadily. 
20  SOLD.     Huzza ! 

30  SOLD.     [A  boy]     Home !    Home  I 
UBEDA.      [Making  nothing  of  their  words."}     Speak  1 
4TH  SOLD.     [Suddenly    raising    his    hand]     Listen ! 
There  speaks  Life ! 

[All  listen  while  from  the  distance  comes  the 

faint  sound  of  trumpets. 
5TH  SOLD.     {Who  has  just  staggered  in.~\     And  I  have 

seen  it  from  the  eastern  edge  1 
UBEDA.     Don  Francis  1 
PERTH.  She  I 


EL  DORADO  125 

5TH  SOLD.  They  now  ascend  the  slope ! 

All  of  the  troops,  Don  Francis  leading  them ! 
PERTH.     £  Tottering  toward  the  wall.']    I  go  to  meet  her. 
[He  goes  a  few  paces  and  begins  to  sink.     The 

PRIEST  reaches  him  and  supports  him. 
UBEDA.  Wait !    She  comes  to  you ! 

[To  SOLDIERS.]     Go,  gird,  and  let  us  welcome  them,  all 

standing. 

[Exeunt  SOLDIERS. 

PERTH.     [  With  a  great  sweetness  dawning  in  his  face I\ 

And  so  this  is  the  hour  on  which  it  falls ; 

This  hour  on  and  no  other  I     Strange  1    The  sky 

Bends  its  vast  azure  bell  above  me  yet, 

Silently,  as  before  !     But  O,  it  waits  ! 

It  waits  the  infinite  moment  that  is  pending, 

When,  with  her  eyes  half-veiled  with  dreams  fulfilled, 

But  with  their  light  laid  on  the  eyes  of  me, 

And  with  her  mouth  a  little  tremulous 

From  all  the  troubled  violets  in  her  veins,  — 

And  with  her  hair,  and  with  her  lips  and  brow 

All  radiant  with  the  mystery  of  her  — 

—  She  shall  appear !     Then  1    Then !    A  little  while, 

The  hundredth  of  a  moment  shall  we  pause — 

To  look  —  each  standing  dumb  and  motionless 

Until,  from  out  her  tender  holy  deeps 

Shall  rise  that  aureate  starlight  in  her  eyes, 

For  which  I  seek —  at  last,  not  vainly.     Then!  — 

The  same  mute,  brazen  heaven  shall  reel  and  sway, 

Sound  and  give  forth  a  note  of  such  mad  joy, 

That  all  the  yearning  choirs  throughout  the  abyss 

Shall  dream  upon  their  shadowy  battlements, 


iz6  EL  DORADO 

Voiceless  among  their  unstirred  instruments, 
Listening  — 

[The  loud  blast  of  a  trumpet  is  heard  just  be 
yond  the  wall.     Enter  PERTH'S  SOLDIERS 
in  full  armour.     They  form .] 
Ah !  [He  grows  strangely  apprehensive^}  What  ? 
UBEDA.     [Soothingly^     'Tis  the  general  herald. 

[The  clamour  and  tramp  of  many  people  march 
ing  is  heard  and  grows  steadily  nearer. 
The  trumpets  continue  to  sound.  Finally 
enter  a  HERALD,  still  trumpeting.  He  ad 
vances  formally  until  he  is  in  the  center  of  the 
stage.  Several  PRIESTS  follow  him  closely, 
blessing  PERTH'S  SOLDIERS.  One  of  them 
bears  in  his  hands  a  large  white  cross.  Be 
side  him  is  a  STANDARD-BEARER  carrying  a 
banner  wrought  with  the  arms  of  Spain. 
THE  HERALD.  [Proclaiming^}  Way  for  the  Cross  by 

which  we  take  this  rock  ! 
Way  for  the  pennant  of  His  Majesty, 
Defender  of  all  realms  the  Cross  protects ! 
Way  for  the  agent  of  the  Church  and  State, 
The  noble  and  most  Catholic  General, 
The  Governor,  Don  Francis  Coronado ! 

[The  PRIEST  elevates  the  Cross  three  times. 
There  is  an  impressive  hush  and  then  the 
*  HERALD  speaks  again.'] 

Also  his  Dame,  the  Dona  Beatrix !  — 

[PERTH  has  not  seemed  to  hear  the  HERALD  at 
first,  but  at  the  elevation  of  the  Cross,  seem 
ingly  moved  by  some  presentiment,  he  leans 


EL  DORADO  127 

to  catch  the  further  words  of  the  HERALD. 

When  the  last  sentence  has  been  pronounced 

he  does  not  at  first  move,  but  slowly  and 

gradually  his  head  falls  forward. 
A  PRIEST.    [To  UBEDA.]    Pax  Domini  sit  semper  vobis- 

cum. 

UBEDA.     And  with  you,  too.          \He  turns  to  PERTH.] 

Would  it  might  be  with  all ! 
\The   members  of  the  expedition  continue    to 

enter.     Suddenly  a  young  PRIEST,  full  of 

zeal,  begins  a  chant. 
THE  YOUNG  PRIEST.     O  Fons  Amoris,  Spiritu  — 

[UBEDA   hastily    touches  him   and  points  to 

PERTH.   The  rapt  expression  on  the  singer's 

face  changes  to  one  of  'pity '.] 

Forgive ! 
[PERTH  stands  fixed  and  dumb  while  others 

enter.   Finally  CORONADO  himself  appears. 

He  is  evidently  fatigued  but  clearer-eyed 

and  more  cheerful  than  before.     He  walks 

rapidly  to  PERTH  extending  his  hands  with 

great  cordiality. 

COR.     O  faithful  soldier,  greeting !     All  is  well ! 
The  blood  that  threatened  you  now  crusts  the  desert ! 
The  food  you  fainted  for  we  bring  to  you ! 
Or  was  it  water  ?     We  have  water,  drink  ! 
Drink  and  be  filled,  for  you  have  suffered  sorely. 
Your  pain  is  ended  now,  and  all  the  wounds 
You  took  upon  the  way  Honour  will  heal, 
And  memory  will  soothe,  for  you  were  brave. 
You  will  pass  down  the  path  of  age  in  quiet. 


iz8  EL  DORADO 

For  me,  I  also  am  content.     The  gold 
We  thought  upon  proved  no  more  real  than  thoughts, 
Yet  all  the  treasure  of  earth  or  dreams  was  there, 
And  there  I  found  it !     And  to  you  who  brought  her 
Unscathed  through  all  the  ravening  fire  of  perils 
To  me  —  for  she  herself  has  whispered  all  — 
For  your  reward  and  thanks  you  shall  behold, 
As  lawful  wife,  the  maid  you  did  protect. 

[Another  trumpet  is  sounded  beyond  the  wall, 
and  the  SOLDIERS  having  formed  in  ranks^ 
look  expectantly  toward  the  sound.  There 
is  a  stir  and  the  further  noise  of  people  ap 
proaching.  Enter  BEATRIX.  She  is  once 
more  attired  in  feminine  garb  and  is  at 
tended  by  two  native  WOMEN.  As  she  enters 
her  glance  lights  and  is  fixed  upon  PERTH. 
As  he  looks  upon  her  he  sways  as  though  to 
fall.  With  the  more  observing  sympathy  of 
her  sex  she  notices  what  has  entirely  escaped 
CORONADO. 
BEAT.  [  With  impulsive  pity '.]  Ah,  do  you  not  see  ?  He 

is  faint  1     Bring  water ! 

Wine  and  some  subtle  essence  to  revive  him ! 
His  face  is  that  of  one  long  famishing ! 
PERTH.     Water  and  wine  I  have  — 
COR.     {To  the  WOMEN.]  Hasten  !  He  sleeps  ! 

\_Exeunt  WOMEN. 

PERTH.    Bid  no  dream  hasten —  all  pass — -in  the  end, 
Swiftly  — 

COR.  Some  deadly  thing  has  stricken  him  I 

UBEDA.  It  is  but  hunger  and  thirst.  Last  night  I  found 


EL  DORADO  129 

That  of  each  day's  allotment  of  the  water, 

He,  daily,  has  withheld  his  own  poor  share 

From  his  own  lips  —  saving  to  moisten  them, 

Giving  it  all  —  his  life  —  unto  the  soldiers, 

And  unto  me,  unknowing  whence  it  came. 

BEAT.     O  Tender  and  True  I     The  deed  was  like  his 
soul. 

Enter  her  WOMEN  with  filled  flagons  and  cups. ~\ 

\_To  them.}     Give  me  the  cup.     [To  PERTH.]     Here's 
wine  and  more  than  wine ; 

Love  !     For  with  returning  life  comes  Love, 

And  both  we  bring  you  with  full,  grateful  hands  1 

[PERTH'S  eyes  are  upon  her  face,  but  he  makes 
no  effort  to  accept  the  cup. 

COR.   He  pales  as  though  he  bled  from  inward  wounds. 

PERTH.     [  To   BEATRIX.]     I   cannot   drink  —  more  — 
for  at  last  —  the  cup 

Is  drained. 

BEAT.          No,  here  is  life  and  cooling  strength ! 

COR.     [Coming  closer  to  him.~\     Some  crushing  shadow 
rests  upon  your  brow, 

Some  enemy  has  wrought  some  wrong  upon  you ; 

Disclose  his  name  that  we  may  aid  with  vengeance. 

PERTH.     I  know  no  enemy  but  Destiny. 

BEAT.     Grant  only  now  to  touch  your  lips  with  this. 

[She  again  extends  the  cup.  PERTH  does  not 
see  it,  but  he  is  looking  at  both  CORONADO 
and  BEATRIX  as  they  now  stand  together  be 
fore  him.  A  great  light  seems  to  break 
over  his  eyes.  When  he  speaks  his  voice 
has  taken  a  new  quietness. 


130  EL  DORADO 

PERTH.     At  last  —  I  see  1    Always  I  seemed  to  know 

That  one  day,  —  though  I  know  not  when  —  some  hour, 

I  should  behold  and  know  it  and  possess  it  — 

The  Font  1 

COR.  No,  it  is  snow  and  wine  I 

BEAT.  He  wanders ! 

PERTH.     I  had  not  thought  to  find  it  so  at  last, 

Yet  here,  and  here  alone,  it  has  arisen 

Within  these  two  —  my  only  youth !     Yes  —  now  !  — 

Upon  this  hour  and  place  at  last !     The  Source  ! 

\He  looks  slowly  about  him.~\ 
It  is  a  barren  place  —  yet  flowers  are  here, 
Those  which  for  certain  days  I  seemed  to  lose ; 
A  desolate,  tender  fatherhood  has  here 
Found  growth  and  bears,  but  all  too  piteously, 
A  futile  bud.     And  here  is  that  white  bloom 
Which  is  the  mighty  soul  of  him  who  loved  me. 

[He  turns  to  the  FRIAR.] 
Ubeda,  —  Friend  1     O  Best  and  Faithf ullest  1 
Even  you  grow  dim,  recede.     The  folding  dusk 
Hides  one  by  one  the  blossoms  —  but  their  scents 
Remain  — 

COR.  He  must  be  wakened  !     Force  the  wine 

Between  his  lips ! 

UBEDA.  He  is  beyond  all  force. 

PERTH.     There  have  been  flowers  —  I  had  thought  to 

love  a  few 

Out  of  the  dream,  but  now  are  all  dreams  dead. 
Poor  ghosts.     Yet  once  they  seemed  most  real  to  me, 
Memories  only  now ;  the  eyes  that  saw  them 
Briefly  between  two  shadows,  now  no  more 


EL  DORADO  131 

See.     Nor  will  ever  see  the  Garden's  colours. 

...  A  mist  .  .  a  rift  within  the  mist  .  .  and  then  .  . 

The  mist  again  and  odours  far  away. 

.  .  The  Sea  !     O  wild,  wide  beach  !     Am  I  alone  ? 

The  tide  grows  full  and  climbs  now  toward  my  lips  ; 

I  will  wait  here.     The  ponderous  ancient  breast 

Heaves  heavily  its  interminable  sigh ; 

Soon  it  will  ebb  and  leave  upon  the  sands 

No  shadow  of  the  shell  that  printed  them. 

Nor  in  the  thunder  of  sob  or  storm  or  calm, 

Or  any  separate  wave's  soliloquy, 

Will  there  be  memory  of  what  returned ; 

So  with  all  broken  shells  .  . 

BEAT.  One  stands  without 

The  wall  that  sense  has  set  about  your  soul ; 

Begging  to  comfort  you.     O  may  not  I 

By  touch  of  hand  or  token  of  lips  or  wine, 

Win  you  again  to  us  ?     He  does  not  hear  me  ! 

PERTH.     .  .  Music  .  .  yet  broken  .  .  but  'tis  evening 

now, 

And  the  day's  music  is  not  like  the  night's  .  . 
Always  I  listened  longingly,  in  vain, 
To  hear  some  voice  from  either  dark  or  light. 
.  .  Ever  before  the  dial  of  my  hours 
Stood  Silence  with  a  bitten  tongue,  forbidding, 
And  now  .  .  shall  I  not  peer  behind  the  face 
Of  very  Time  itself  .  .  spite  of  all  waves  ? 
The  sea  has  much  to  tell  .  .  some  ear  must  hear  .  . 
Perhaps  .  .  'tis  mine  .  .  but  first  .  .  a  little  sleep  .  . 
.  .  Perchance  .  .  a    little    rest  .  .  perchance  —  chance 

[Dies. 


132  EL  DORADO 

BEAT.     Help  him  !    He  sinks  !    Lift  him  1 

UBEDA.  He  is  now  dead. 

COR.     O  Heavy  Fate !    To  die  just  when  sweet  Life 

Beckoned  again  to  him. 

BEAT.  He  bore  much  grief. 

CURTAIN 


EPILOGUE 

Enter  SHADOW 

SHADOW.     Far  beyond  thought,  One  broods  upon  all 

this, 

Watching  the  face  of  many  and  many  a  world 
Whose  yearning  clay  from  time  to  time  He  dews 
With  souls  of  men  from  out  His  infinite  will. 
And  some  of  all  these  souls  are  like  the  sea, 
With  patient  tides  that  ever  keep  their  season, 
And  with  their  depths  fixed  in  unfailing  peace, 
But  these  are  few ;  and  some  are  quiet  streams 
Winding  through  placid  meadows.     Some  are  pools, 
Receiving  all  and  giving  naught  again, 
Saving  the  pictured  changes  of  the  sky  .  .  . 
.  .  .  But  others  are  dashed  down  on  horrid  flint 
That  rends  them  from  all  life  through  all  their  course  ; 
Or  if,  perchance,  at  last  they  win  the  level, 
The  unyielding  sand  swallows  their  work  and  them. 
.  .  .  He,  He  who  dreams  or  watches  all  below, 
Waits  all,  withholding  either  blow  or  kiss. 
A  while  he  suffers  them  to  pulse  or  flow, 
Then  reabsorbs  them  in  those  clouds  of  His. 

EXPLICIT 


The  House  of  a  Hundred 
Lights 

By  RIDGELT  TORRENCE 


RICHARD    HENRY  STODDARD,  in  "The  Mail  and 
Express" 

"It  is  a  rememberable  piece  of  poetic  work.  .  .  .  There 
is  vigour  in  it  and  a  sympathetic  insight  .  .  .  Readers  will 
be  impressed  by  their  freshness,  their  singularity,  and  their 
sincerity." 

THE  MIRROR,  St.  Louis 

"  Mr.  Torrence's  couplets  or  quatrains,  for  they  may  be 
read,  broadly,  as  either,  are  touched  with  a  humour  that 
was  unknown  to  either  Omar  or  Burton  ...  a  noteworthy 
performance  .  .  .  good  poetry  .  . .  the  philosophy  of  common 
sense.  .  .  .  His  one  hundred  verses  give  pleasure,  suggest 
reflection,  pique  the  intellect  into  searching  for  the  defects 
in  his  half-truths.  .  .  .  These  verses  of  Mr.  Torrence  are 
going  to  be  exceedingly  popular.  They  are  of  the  best 
thought  and  rhyme-stuff  this  country  has  produced  in  the 
last  decade." 

THE  COMMERCIAL  ADVERTISER,  New  York 

"  He  is  revealed  as  a  young  poet  of  originality  and  more 
than  ordinary  power.  Together  with  these  qualities  he 
possesses  strong  imaginative  and  meditative  moods  joined 
to  a  saving  sense  of  humour  that  has  frequently  pointed  out 
an  artist's  way  to  greatness." 

THE  TRIBUNE,  New  York 

"  Mr.  Torrence  aims  at  a  fearless  expression  of  the  truth ; 
he  writes  with  a  certain  spirit  of  youth  and  courage,  with  a 
certain  grace  of  form,  and  hence  « The  House  of  a  Hundred 
Lights '  contains  some  interesting,  beguiling  verses.  His 
work  reflects  a  kind  of  common  sense,  practically  coloured 
by  imagination." 


HEROD 

A    TRAGEDY    IN    THREE    ACTS 
By  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 

TWENTY-FIRST  THOUSAND.     i2mo. 
43.  6d.  net.     GREEN   CLOTH.    $1.25  net 

"  Herod "  was  produced  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre, 
London,  October  31,  1900,  by  Mr.  Beerbohm  Tree. 
Following  are  some  comments  by  the  London  Press : 

THE  TIMES 

"  That  Mr.  Phillips  has  the  poet's  imagination  all  who  have  read 
'  Paolo  and  Francesca '  must  be  well  aware.  Has  he  the  imagination 
of  the  dramatist  ?  That  was  the  first  question  raised  by  his  '  Herod,' 
and  the  performance  of  this  tragedy  last  night  leaves  no  doubt  about 
the  answer.  Mr.  Phillips  has  not  only  the  technic,  the  'fingering,' 
but  also  the  bold,  visualizing  imagination  of  the  dramatist. 

"  Here,  then,  is  a  noble  work  of  dramatic  imagination,  dealing  greatly 
with  great  passion  ;  multicolored  and  exquisitely  musical.  Though  it 
is  '  literature '  throughout,  it  is  never  the  literature  of  the  closet,  but 
always  the  literature  of  the  theatre,  with  the  rapid  action,  the  marked 
contrasts,  the  fierce  beating  passion,  the  broad  effects  proper  to  the 
theatre.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Stephen  Phillips  is  not  only  a  poet,  and 
a  rare  poet,  but  that  still  rarer  thing,  a  dramatic  poet." 

THE  MORNING  LEADER 

" Splendidly  opulent  in  conception;  perfect  in  construction;  far 
beyond  all  contemporary  English  effort  in  the  aptitude  of  its  verse  to 
the  subject  and  to  the  stage." 

THE  DAILY  NEWS 

"The  drama  possesses  the  sovereign  quality  of  movement,  and  it 
is  even  prodigal  in  the  matter  of  dramatic  situations.  To  this  we  have 
to  add  that  its  dialogue  speaks  the  language  of  passion,  and  is  rarely 
encumbered  by  mere  descriptive  or  reflective  passages." 

THE  OUTLOOK 

"  Mr.  Phillips  has  done  a  blank-verse  play  which  is  not  only  poetry 
of  the  purest  water,  but  dramatic  poetry.  In  '  Herod '  he  has  given 
us  a  poem  of  rare  beauty  and  distinction,  rich  in  music  and  color,  and 
in  striking  thought  and  image.  If  he  should  never  write  another  line, 
his  '  Herod '  will  remain  a  pillar  of  dramatic  imagination  on  which  its 
author  and  the  manager  who  produced  it,  and  the  public  who  applauded 
it,  may  each  and  all  look  back  with  pride." 

THE   SPECTATOR 

"The  purely  dramatic  quality  of  the  play  is  surprisingly  high. 
There  remains  the  literary  quality  of  the  verse,  and  here,  too,  we  can 
speak  _  with  few  reservations.  Mr.  Phillips'  blank  verse  is  flexible, 
melodious,  and  majestic." 


Paolo   and   Francesca 

A     TRAGEDY     IN     FOUR     ACTS 
By   STEPHEN   PHILLIPS 

With  Frontispiece  after  the  Painting  by  G.  F.  Watts,  R.  A. 
Twenty-eighth  Thousand        izmo        PRICE,  $1.25  net 

"  Nothing  finer  has  come  to  us  from  an  English  pen  in  the 
way  of  a  poetic  and  literary  play  than  this  since  the  appearance 
of  Taylor's  '  Philip  Van  Artevelde.'" — New  York  Times. 

"  A  beautiful  piece  of  literature,  disclosing  the  finest  imagi 
nation,  the  most  delicate  instinct,  and  the  most  sincere  art.  It 
is  too  early  to  say  that  it  is  great,  but  it  is  not  too  soon  to 
affirm  that  nothing  so  promising  has  come  from  the  hand  of  an 
English  or  American  poet  of  late  years." — Outlook. 

"  The  play  is  a  powerful  one,  and  Mr.  Phillips  maintains  in 
it  his  wonderful  pitch  of  style,  which  was  so  striking  in  his 
earlier  poems." — Independent. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  '  Paolo  and  Francesca  '  is 
the  most  important  example  of  English  dramatic  poetry  that 
has  appeared  since  Browning  died.  ...  In  Stephen 
Phillips  we  have  a  man  who  will  prove  that  the  finest  achieve 
ments  of  English  poetry  are  a  continuing  possession,  and  not 
solely  a  noble  inheritance." — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

44 '  Paolo  and  Francesca '  has  beauty,  passion,  and  power. 
.  .  .  The  poem  deserves  a  wide  reading  on  account  of  its 
intrinsic  merit  and  interest." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  reader  may  turn  to  *  Paolo  and  Francesca'  with  the 
assurance  of  passing  an  hour  of  the  highest  possible  pleasure. 
.  .  .  One  of  the  most  exalted  histories  of  human  pas 
sion  and  human  frailty  has  received  a  fitting  frame  of  verse. 
.  .  .  It  is  certain  that  his  first  act  only  would  suffice  in 
his  facility  of  language,  vigor  of  thought,  intensity  of  emotion^ 
conception  of  dramatic  possibilities,  and  all  that  goes  to  make 
the  drama  great,  to  give  the  author  a  settled  place  among  the 
best  of  the  younger  men." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 


MARPESSA 

By    STEPHEN    PHILLIPS 

Illustrated  by  PHILIP    CONNARD 
In  the  "  Flowers  of  Parnassus  "  Series.    Sq.  i6mo  (5^  x  4^) 

FIFTEENTH    THOUSAND 
is.  net.     Art  Green  Cloth.     50  cents  net 
is.  6d.  net.     Green  Leather.     75  cents  net 

OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS 

The  opinion  of  MR.  WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS  :  "Spiritual  in  a  fine  way 
Mr.  Phillips's  work  is,  running  into  frank  realism  where  a  modern  theme  is 
dealt  with,  and  keeping  a  high  idealism  where  the  question  is  of  fable  or  of 
faith.  His  poems  of  'The  Woman  with  a  Dead  Soul'  and  'The  Wife' 
are  examples  in  the  one  sort,  and  his  '  Marpessa '  and  '  Christ  in  Hades  '  are 
instances  in  the  other.  In  power  of  picturing  to  the  imagination  they  are 
all  of  like  charm,  and  in  all  of  them  one  feels  the  glow  of  the  poet's  youth. 
Tennyson  at  his  age  had  not  done  better." 

PROFESSOR  TRENT  :  "  Poetry  as  beautiful  as  any  that  has  been  given  us  since 
Tennyson  was  in  his  prime. " 

The  Sewanee  Review:  "Almost  perfect  diction,  melodious  verse,  lyric 
sweetness,  single  lines  and  passages  that  thrill  and  linger  with  us,  ...  'sweet 
to  the  mouth  and  ear.'  In  ten  years  Mr.  Phillips  will  be  ranked  as  the 
greatest  living  British  poet." 

The  London  Daily  Chronicle:  "We  may  pay  Mr.  Phillips  the  distinguished 
compliment  of  saying  that  his  blank  verse  is  finer  than  his  work  in  rhyme. 
.  .  .  Almost  the  whole  of  this  book  is  concerned  with  life  and  death,  largely 
and  liberally  contemplated  ;  it  is  precisely  that  kind  of  contemplation  which 
our  recent  poetry  lacks.  '  Poetry,'  says  Coleridge  once  more,  '  is  the  blossom 
and  the  fragrancy  of  all  human  knowledge,  human  thoughts,  human  passions, 
emotions,  knowledge.'  It  should  not  be  didactic,  it  cannot  help  being 
moral,  it  must  not  be  instructive,  but  it  must  needs  be  educative.  It  is,  as  it 
were,  the  mind  of  man  in  excelsis,  caught  into  a  world  of  light.  We  praise 
Mr.  Phillips  for  many  excellences,  but  chiefly  for  the  great  air  and  ardour  of 
his  poetry,  its  persistent  loftiness." 

Literature  :  "  No  such  remarkable  book  of  verse  as  this  has  appeared  for 
several  years.  Mr.  Phillips  boldly  challenges  comparison,  in  style  and 
subject,  with  the  work  of  the  great  masters ;  the  writers  whom  he  makes  you 
think  of  range  up  to  Milton,  and  do  not  fall  below  Landor.  His  blank  verse 
is  entirely  his  own,  everywhere  dignified,  sonorous,  and  musical.  No  man 
in  our  generation,  and  few  in  any  generation,  have  written  better  than  this." 
Blackwoo(T$  Magazine :  "  Passages  that  march  with  the  footfalls  of  the 
immortals,  .  .  .  stately  lines  with  all  the  music  and  meaning  of  the  highest 
poetry." 


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